Confessions of a Teenage DeathEater: The Intrigues
by whoneedsusernames
Summary: Now that the secret's out and everybody knows about my scandalous lineage, expectations come with the territory. People expect me to be like my mother or my father. I'm not. And after the events of last year, I'm sure people were expecting me to grow up. To be a 'good guy'. But they don't own me – I'll grow up in my own time, and I've never been particularly good. HP/OC/BZ SEQUEL
1. Chapter 1

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QUICK NOTE: To anybody who has only just stumbled onto this story… hi, and I'm glad to have you, but this is the second instalment in a series, and you'd best read the first one to avoid serious confusion. Head to my page and go to 'Confessions of a Teenage Death Eater: The Catalyst'.

Enjoy!

…..

Perhaps it was a reaction to the events of the previous year- perhaps it was a belated rebellion, but for whatever reason, as I went into my fifth year at Hogwarts, I changed a little. My mind was swirling with images of my mother, so cool and confident. So free. I knew that to survive seeing everybody again, I would need to be like that. And yet, the more I read of Sirius' manuscript, the more I resented her. Always so cool, always so confident, always so free….. until she had to leave him. Then she practically broke.

And as I watched (through Sirius' eyes) as she formed such close bonds with Lily Evans and James Potter, my heart screamed with frustration, just one, lone word of confusion – _why_?

_Why_ had she left such good friends behind?

If she truly didn't care, _why_ join the Order at all?

If she loved Sirius, _why_ leave him?

And most of all, _why_ did she then choose to leave me? My resentment for my father switched almost overnight to a burning hatred of my mother. I don't know if Sirius had on some level realised that his manuscript would raise questions just as quickly as it resolved others, but it did, and the more I read, the more I wanted to tear my hair out and cry.

They seemed so normal to me, so inevitably together. And yet it had all gone wrong. Not just because of my mother, but a huge part of me apportioned the blame to her. She had left, not him. He'd followed her. Time after time, he'd followed her wherever she went. And it was so very difficult to accept, after all this time, that perhaps my saintly mother had been just as much at fault as he had been for the demise of their relationship. For years I'd hated my father and idolised my mother, but Sirius' story tore huge holes in the image I'd had of her. Now I realised that I hardly knew her at all, and of course now never would. All I had were the impressions of a man who'd been at times absolutely blinded by love and at other times absolutely full of loathing. It wasn't a reliable picture, and if anything it made her actions seem more and more confusing, more difficult to work out.

But it wasn't just her who was cast into doubt.

I watched as Sirius fell in love with _Maman_, little by little. I saw their first kiss, their fights, the skinny dipping in the lake, the night at the club. But at the same time, I couldn't ignore Remus also falling for her. Perhaps harder. It made me feel… uncomfortable. Wildly so, in fact, as I recalled the way he'd acted around me. The shock when he'd first seen me at the station, the care he'd taken of me at the hospital wing. The way he'd called me 'Lee' during the battle. I'd thought at first that he'd just felt affectionate towards me – conceitedly, I'd assumed that he was a nice man who'd taken a shine towards me, maybe because I was witty, or smart, or good looking. When I found out that he'd been friends with Sirius Black… well, I'd assumed that he didn't care about _me_, just about my father. That his affection for me had really stemmed from his love for Sirius.

Now? Now I felt like the only reason he'd ever been nice to me wasn't because of my personality or my father, but because my face was so much like my mother's. And that was the worst explanation yet. It was worse than the idea that he only cared because of Sirius Black – at least in _that_ explanation, he still cared about _me._ If it was _Maman's_ face which drew him to me, well. That meant that he was basically pretending I was somebody else. I wasn't Estelle, I was an imitation of Aurelie. And that hurt more than I'd thought it would.

And Harry, too. Harry had read this manuscript, I knew that much. I didn't know just how much he'd read, or how much he'd understood, but the thought made me feel uncomfortable. Once again, we shared a connection, one that no amount of bitchiness on my part of naivete on his could break. We were the only two who'd read Sirius' account, and we were the two who'd been, in some way, his children. Sirius had linked us together, despite my best efforts. Had I managed to remain indifferent, had I approached the manuscript as I would a textbook and formed no affection or feeling towards Sirius, then it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't feel any obligation to Harry, or any bond at all. But I couldn't help but like Sirius as he had been, and when I added to that the fact that he was my father? Well, how could I ignore Harry then?

And so, I felt closer to Harry (to my absolute disgust). And that was made even worse as I read the myriad of off-hand comments that Sirius made about the two of us. About how he'd wanted his and James' children to marry, how he'd always thought Harry and I would be friends…. That made me feel sick, for a number of reasons. First, obviously, was that all of a sudden I felt as though I were ignoring my father's wishes by ignoring Harry. Secondly, though, and this was painful, I couldn't help but wonder if Harry had only been my friend for that brief time because he thought Sirius wanted him to. I'd felt like I could be myself with Harry, and that he'd like me anyway, but had he really liked me at all?

I was in turmoil.

In that mess of hormones and confusion, the first day of school finally arrived. I hadn't seen Draco since Diagon Alley, but the house-elves had placed all my school supplies in my room, and I'd thrown them haphazardly into my trunk.

The truth was, I realised, as I sat on the window sill with my legs dangling outside, banging against the wall (Lucius would have absolutely killed me if he'd seen) that I didn't know what to expect. School was routine. School was normal. School was a break from worried faces and sleepless nights.

But school was also the last place I'd been before my world was turned upsidedown, and I wasn't sure I wanted to return there. The Estelle who'd walked the halls of Hogwarts was so utterly different to the Estelle who was sitting precariously on the outside window sill. _That_ Estelle had had a mother whom she loved, and who loved her. _That_ Estelle didn't have a father._ That_ Estelle had friends who trusted her, and teachers who found her amusing, if frustrating. _That_ Estelle kissed Blaise til she was breathless in abandoned classrooms, but secretly watched a certain Gryffindor idiot with messy hair and brilliant eyes.

This Estelle had a mother who hadn't truly cared, and a father who would have loved her if he'd had the chance. This Estelle's friends weren't sure what to believe, and her teachers wouldn't trust her. This Estelle wasn't allowed to look at that Gryffindor, and wasn't sure she even wanted to.

What was left of me? Since reading Sirius' manuscript, I couldn't help but identifying every little quirk or personality trait that I had, and placing it under either 'traits inherited from Sirius' or 'traits inherited from _Maman_'. My smiile, my laugh. My _sarcasm_, for crying out loud. All of it was _them_, so what was _me_? Especially now that the me who'd been ignorant of them, and therefore entirely independent, was now gone?

Annoyed by the same questions which had been swirling around my head for the past week, I swung my legs back inside the window and tripped across to the vanity table on the far side of my room. It was asleep, thankfully. Lucius had chosen it for me, and though it was an elegant piece, it was far too opinionated for my liking. It hated my clothes, and was constantly bemoaning my inability to comb my hair properly. But it was better than the wardrobe. The wardrobe had a tendency to eat the clothes it didn't like. After the Zabini ball, I'd put my dress back inside it, and the next day it had vanished. The same thing happened to my huge combat boots and my favourite scarf.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and felt my heart seize up a little. My face – yet another thing that wasn't really mine. With a sigh, I checked it off into the 'traits inherited from _Maman'_ column. I looked _so_ much like her. The shape of my mouth, my skin. The little dimple in my cheek- even my eyebrows. We could be sisters, her and I. Most of all because of that hair. The long, blonde curls, like something out of a fairytale. Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Her life was no fairytale. Not when she was young, not when she was a kid, not when she was an adult. So, what, was the hair meant to be ironic or something? Some sort of moral about how you shouldn't judge a book by its cover?

Fuck it. Fuck it all. She was no fairy queen and he was no king, and I sure as hell was no princess.

And just like that, without thinking, I grabbed a hank of my long, blonde ringlets and sliced it off with a pair of scissors. As the blades went 'snick', and the long hair landed on the counter with a light sort of 'poof' noise, I blinked in shock.

And then there was silence for a moment. I looked again at my reflection. I looked.. bemused, as though waiting to see what my own reaction would be. Still holding the bit of my hair I'd just cut in half, I blinked slowly. And then went cross-eyed. And then poked out my tongue. The much shorter bit of hair in my hands looked odd against my otherwise perfect ringlets. It was still wavy, but it curled only slightly, a little flick up at the end. It barely looked like it was mine.

Without thinking, I raised the scissors again. Snick. Snick. Snick. It happened so fast I barely knew I was doing it. When I glanced back at my reflection, I saw that I was smiling. A malicious little smile. A cruel little grin.

I also saw that my hair was shorter. Much shorter. I'd chopped half of it off around my shoulders. It barely brushed them now in an uneven, jagged cut. My reflection was still smiling. I raised cold fingers to my mouth, just to check. But yes, that manic smile wasn't a trick of the light- it was mine.

It was at that moment that my vanity woke up, "oh, dear." It gasped, "oh. What on _earth_ are you doing to your hair!?"

My smile got bigger, "shut it, antique," I said in biting French, "wait til it's done before you start whinging."

And then I raised the scissors again.

Draco and Narcissa were sitting in the parlour when I came downstairs. Well, skipped down stairs, missing ever second step and grinning like an idiot. I hadn't seen either of them in days, and they hadn't seen me. And I couldn't _wait_ for their reactions.

"About time," I heard Draco say, "we thought you'd make us miss the train… oh."

His reaction seemed a little restrained. Narcissa, however, didn't disappoint. She spat her tea across the settee and her eyes widened in shock. "Oh, Merlin," she said, the least composed I'd ever seen her, "Estelle.. your hair."

I shot her a grin, "brilliant, isn't it?" I asked with a wink.

She didn't answer. Can't say I blame her, it would have been a slight shock. My hair, til just recently reaching to my lower back, now fell just below my shoulders in a thick, lustrous mass. The long, Botticelli-esque ringlets I'd sported were gone- now my hair was gently curled, and messy as could be.

It was also jet black.

I'd been more than a little annoyed while I was cutting off my hair- the mirror wouldn't shut up, just couldn't seem to let it go. So I took it a step further. One spell later and my eyebrows and hair were blackest black. You'd think that, after being born a blonde, black hair wouldn't suit me at all. But somehow it did. My skin looked paler, sure. But the pink in my cheeks stood out, too. And my eyes? They looked positively silver.

"You look like…" Narcissa began.

With a dazzling smile, I finished for her, "my dad? Yeah, I thought I might. Wicked colouring he had. Glad to know I could pull it off." The truth was, I'd made a choice. I didn't _want_ to be like my mother, and I realised that I didn't have to be. If I had to be one of them (and judging from the fact that my whole personality seemed to be a patchwork quilt of bits of theirs, I _did_ have to be one of them) I would be like my father. I'd been my mother for far too long – it was time I stepped out from her shadow, and into a shadow I hadn't tried before. My father's.

"What in Merlin's name inspired _this_?" Draco snapped at me, but I could see that he looked at least a little amused. That alone made me sure I'd done the right thing – Draco liked to think of me as his crazy little cousin, and if me acting out made him happy for a while, then I'd act out more than ever. "You look terrible."

I sniffed. "I do _not_." I insisted quickly, summoning my suitcase with a flick of my wand. It tumbled down the stairs and flew open onto the floor, dumping my belongings everywhere. Not letting my embarrassment show, I flicked my wand again, sending the books and clothes back into the suitcase. "I do _not_." I repeated. "This suits me."

Draco squinted at me, tilting his head to the left. "I liked it before." He said nonchalantly. "But we don't have time to discuss it now – we have to get to the train." And with that, he stepped smartly outside the manor door, distancing himself from Narcissa and I just as he had been doing all holidays.

I sighed – no matter how normal he seemed at times, Draco was a mess and he didn't want Narcissa and I to know it. His constant need to be away from us was getting on my nerves. Tossing my newly cropped hair, I trooped down the stairs and made to follow him. I'd almost made it to the door when I was interrupted. "Estelle." I felt a cool hand on my shoulder, and automatically I stiffened, turning to face my aunt.

"Aunt Narcissa," I said politely, one eyebrow raised.

She gave me a tight smile, her eyes darting all over my face as she watched my reaction. I felt a little sting in my heart- my father had looked at me like that- before he'd died- as though trying to take everything in, to remember everything.

"You still look like her, you know." Narcissa said coolly.

I blinked, meeting her gaze, "sorry?"

"Aureile. You still look like her. Your mother." Despite the affectionate nature of the conversation, she still managed to look utterly condescending as she spoke. "It's in your mouth. Your face shape, perhaps. It's strange- when you smile, it's all Sirius, but your laugh? Your laugh is Lee's."

I shrugged jerkily, "so?"

She sighed, "how blind do you think I am?" she asked almost snappishly, "I don't know exactly _why_ it began now rather than as soon as you found out about your father, but for the past few weeks you've been… _angry_ at her."

I opened my mouth to deny it, but she forestalled me, "don't try and say otherwise. You're trying to erase her from yourself, just as you think she tried to do with your father and you."

"I _know_ she tried to," I answered finally, biting the corner of my mouth, "she never mentioned him- never spoke of him at all!"

"Stop being a child, Estelle." She snapped, and suddenly she was by my side, cupping my face in her hands. She'd never come so close to me before. "Listen to me. Your mother _loved _you. Sirius would have, too. Had he had the chance, but Lee- she really, really would have loved you."

I could have drawn back then, pointed out that Narcissa _never_ spoke to me about my father _or_ my mother. She hadn't even mentioned them once in the few years I'd lived with her, and now was hardly the time for her to begin. But I didn't. Because this conversation had been years in coming, and if the person I had to have it with was Narcissa, then sobeit.

"She left me," I pointed out, "My father didn't choose not to know me. She did. She left me alone. No relatives to speak of, no family at all. She let herself die _knowing_ that there was nobody for me." As per usual, the second I began speaking about something which I'd considered just a little problem, I realised just how much the entire thing shook me to my core. "Nobody but her boyfriend's distant relatives and a werewolf she'd once been friends with."

Narcissa didn't ask how I knew the specifics of my mother's life. She didn't ask me anything. Instead, she appeared to decide that we'd had far too much of an intimate chat. "Don't be so petulant, Estelle." She said, quite disdainfully. "I'm truly _not_ in the mood, and I think you know that you're just doing this for effect." She sighed, patting at her hair. "I have already _told_ you that your mother cared – I'm not sure why or how she decided to leave, but rest assured there was a reason."

I met her eyes coolly. "I disagree." I said, and with the cold knowledge of my father's words rattling around in my mind. "But it is hardly important now, is it?" I pushed past her. "We should go."

…

We arrived at the station about fifteen minutes before everybody else. I think that, without Lucius there, Narcissa was quite anxious. Usually we got to the train on time, but not excessively early. Although Narcissa naturally inclined towards the neurotic, Lucius had always calmed her down enough that we didn't appear over-eager. Under his influence, we were _punctual,_ rather than being the first ones there. I have a hundred memories of him grasping Narcissa's forearm gently and drawling, "Now, now, my dear. They can wait for _us_." Never before had I realised how much I appreciated that until now.

"Lovely." Draco announced in a clipped, angry voice. "Absolutely _nobody_ is here." To be honest, I shared his disappointment. Since we'd left, perhaps even since early that morning, I'd been feeling a sort of excitement building within me. My stomach was roiling, but I wasn't at all sure that I wasn't enjoying the sensation, and I felt fidgety. I kept looking around, but I wasn't sure what for. Certainly I was completely on edge, and without any reason whatsoever. Around me, though, my family had other things on their minds, so my discomfort went unnoticed.

"Now, Draco." Narcissa said coolly. "There's no need to get upset – it's hardly a tragedy. Your friends will be here soon."

"They're not my 'little friends'." Draco muttered angrily, crossing his arms and glaring at a passing porter.

Narcissa remained composed, raising an eyebrow slightly, but saying not a single word. "I didn't _say_ 'little friends'." She pointed out calmly. "I said _friends_, Draco." I watched the pair of them, absorbed by their strange little fight.

Draco didn't look placated. If anything, he seemed angrier now. "The implication was clear." He spat. "You think we're _children_."

"You _are_ children." Was Narcissa's tight answer.

"No we are _not_." Draco insisted, stamping his foot. I wondered whether or not I should mention the irony of his little action, but in the end, my self-preservation and curiosity won out over my compulsion to annoy him, and instead I examined my nails. "You have no right to treat me like a _child_, Mother!" Narcissa, apparently aware of the fact that anything she said would be considered offensive when Draco was in this sort of mood, glanced wearily at the train. This seemed to frustrate him even more. "Are you _listening_, mother? Are you even paying attention? Listen! I demand that you _listen_ to me!"

I froze, shocked by Draco's outburst. It was hard to believe that just a few short months ago, he'd been so normal, so calm! He'd been troubled, of course, but just his usual self. But during the holidays I'd seen him so rarely, and now he was a completely different person. He was volatile, prone to disproportionate anger, especially when he was talking to his mother. I barely knew what to do beyond hope that as soon as we were away from Narcissa and the Manor, he'd improve.

Admirably, despite this veritable tantrum, Narcissa remained elegant. She turned to Draco, her chin raised proudly and her eyes cast down. "Do calm yourself, Draco." She said almost coldly. "Honestly. I don't know _where_ you get this capacity for dramatics from. Do _not_ roll your eyes at me." Draco glared at her bitterly, and she looked away. "Honestly. Your father never behaved in such a manner, and if he were here he would have been _disgusted_ by that little display."

What I admired most about Narcissa was that she could be so ridiculously scathing without ever lifting her voice above a murmur. I aspired to be able to tear people to shreds as effectively as she did.

Now that Draco had been good and chastised, she grasped his chin between her fingers and forced him to meet her gaze. "Now _listen_." She snapped. "You _are_ a child. You are a clever, talented child, but a child nonetheless. And since your father's…." She struggled almost imperceptibly to find an appropriate word. "Absence, you are a clever, talented child with an exaggerated perception of his own importance. I cannot watch you at Hogwarts, much as I should like to." Now she looked at him with such intensity that I almost felt guilty about eavesdropping. Almost. "So I am going to _ask_ you to proceed with due caution."

Due caution? What was he being cautious of? Did _I_ need to be cautious?

Probably. If I took Narcissa's advice of the past three years, I _always_ needed to be cautious.

"Don't…" She was speaking again, and sounding almost frantic. "Don't draw attention to yourself."

That broke the trance that her lecture had put Draco in. With a snarl he jerked away from her. "I don't _need_ to be told what to do." He insisted.

People were arriving by now, and as Narcissa was distracted by the joys of parenting, it fell to me to remember the famed decorum of the Malfoy family. If they continued to bicker, people would stare. Of course, I couldn't just tell them to give it a rest. No, in this situation, I had to be a little more subtle or risk their combined wrath.

But I could hardly just point vaguely into the distance, shout, 'look at that' and hope that they forgot that they'd been fighting.

No, the safest way to play this was to incur their combined wrath for something minor. In this case, I thought the easiest thing to do would be to light a cigarette. I'll admit that this was one of those rare occasions where the best thing I could do for my family was also fairly beneficial to me. I whipped out a cigarette and lit it on my wand, exhaling a perfectly formed smoke ring right between Draco and Narcissa's angry faces.

In an instant, they'd both turned to face me.

"Put that out, Estelle." Narcissa said, her tone icy. "_Disgusting_ habit."

"You blew in my face." Draco snapped. "Don't be so rude."

I shrugged nonchalantly, running a hand through my hair. "Sorry." I said as innocently as I could.

Narcissa hissed in irritation, glancing away from us. "There is little point continuing this discussion now." She said in a low voice. "Your 'reasonably sized' friends are arriving." I couldn't help but grin at the sarcastic tone in her voice. "You may as well go to meet them." Draco made to leap off without a word more of goodbye, but Narcissa kept hold of his sleeve. He turned to her, clearly anticipating another lecture, but her eyes were sad and resigned. "Be safe, my son." She said simply. "Don't forget – for now, you're all I have."

And then – because of_ course_ as a Malfoy she just _had_ to have the last word – she left before he could reply. He watched her retreating back for a while, and the look of uncertainty in his eyes made me realise just how much he needed her, despite himself. Those scared, little-boy eyes looked out of place in the newly hard planes of his face, and his fingers twitched slightly, almost as though he were stopping himself from reaching for her.

The sad distance between us all made me want to cry. It was so very, very different from the scene a year ago, where Lucius had been laughing, and Draco and I had just been children, really. Was that only a year ago? Really? Had so much changed? It felt almost as though nothing had, now that we were back at the station. But I knew that I couldn't shove Draco, or make any sort of snide comment to make him laugh – it wouldn't be the same. I couldn't even just rest my head on his shoulder or give him a hug so that he knew he wasn't alone. No, too much had changed, and there was a gap between us now, despite everything. There were little fissure cracks in our relationship which I couldn't repair.

So, of course, I decided to lash out. "Why are you being _such_ a brat?" I asked lazily, before I'd even realised the words were spilling out of my mouth. He shot me a look of absolute disgust, and so, offended, I blew another smoke ring in his face.

"Alright." Draco grasped my arm firmly. "Look, Blaise is over there. We'll go stand with him. Maybe _then_ you might behave."

That made me feel a little better. Perhaps these nerves, this anticipation, was simply me wanting to see Blaise's reaction to my new look? Still, I had to keep up the brat act. I tossed my head petulantly and shot Draco a dark look. "Don't tell me what to do, Draco." I hissed. "I'm not a child." My grin was wicked as I repeated his own words back to him, mockingly. I didn't know why I was being so annoying, but I suppose I always was better at destroying things than fixing them.

"You're acting like one." He told me firmly. I agreed, but that didn't mean I was going to alter my behaviour in any way. That would be like letting him win. And if he won, then that would mean that I would lose by default.

I don't _like_ losing. It leaves a bad sort of taste in my mouth.

Besides that, it seemed that the more immaturely I acted, the stronger, the more sure of himself, the more _purposeful_ Draco seemed. That was something, surely?

Blaise, as it turned out, was particularly unimpressed to see us. "Oh." He said, after finally tearing his gaze away from the over-developed chest of a nearby fourth year. "_You_."

I folded my arms petulantly. "_Us_." I agreed, trying to toss my hair, but failing dismally. It was _so_ much shorter now – I kept forgetting.

Blaise's eyes skated over me then, and I felt momentarily gratified as he spent a few long seconds taking in my hair, my eyes, my clothes. But it ended too soon, and I felt cheap and stupid. His lack of reaction to my grand gesture made me want to punch him, but at the same time, I was fully aware that that contemptuous tilt of his chin represented a full understanding of just what I was trying to achieve through my make-over, and just how stupid it was. He was right – I was being an idiot. Still, I wouldn't _ever_ admit that. No, now that I'd gone and done it, I would wear this new look proudly.

"You left me _alone_ with her at Diagon Alley." Blaise was telling Draco, sounding annoyed. "And she's an absolute terror. I suppose you've seen that jacket." Draco nodded, and Blaise sighed dramatically. "She would not take 'no' for an answer."

I tuned out of their conversation then, just in time to feel Marcus Cleevebridge snake a hand around my waist. "Hey, beautiful." He murmured cheekily in my ear. "You new to the school?"

I pushed myself free. "Don't be an idiot, Cleevebridge." I said good-naturedly, glancing around again, as though I were looking for somebody. When I realised what I was doing, I forced my gaze back onto Cleevebridge. "You know me."

He made an exaggeratedly surprised face. "_Dahlquist_?" He asked, smacking a hand over his mouth. "Is that _you_ under that hair?" I executed a little curtsy and he laughed. "You're so mental, but I think that makes me want you more." I was fully aware that Blaise was watching us like a hawk (although apparently it didn't interfere with his ability to enchant that busty fourth year from a few moments before) and the thought filled me with a bizarre sense of triumph. We _weren't_ official, which meant that he couldn't complain about Cleevebridge being his usual, charming self, but I could just tell that it was making him see red. "So what brought this on?" Cleevebridge was asking now, ruffling my hair a little. He was possibly the _least_ dignified Slytherin I'd ever met – I had no idea what he was doing in our house. Perhaps his devious streak was simply more deeply buried than my own?

My smile was small and tight and (if I was going to be honest) meant for Blaise and Blaise alone. "Just felt like it." I said easily. Cleevebridge accepted that with a shrug and immediately began to talk about his holiday in Bermuda.

There were so many people talking, but when Blaise next spoke, I just _knew_ he was talking to me. He wasn't looking my way, or speaking _to_ me, but I knew that his words were mine and mine alone. "Is that enough now?" He asked.

"Excuse me?" I replied evenly, tucking my hair behind my ears. It felt silky, and the shorter ends curled smoothly around my fingers.

He looked directly at me, his eyes skating over my face to meet my gaze. "I asked if this was enough." He said smoothly. "Or are you going to change your name as well?"

Damn him. He always knew, and I had no clue how. I didn't know how to answer him, so I looked sharply away. Pansy had arrived while I'd been speaking to Cleevebridge, and she was currently having a loud discussion with Jess (who'd appeared out of nowhere and given me a warm hug before greeting the others) about whether or not I was having some sort of mental breakdown. It felt… right. Despite everything that had happened, these people were my friends, or at least they'd pretend to be in front of the other houses. They knew me and cared about me and just being near them made everything feel almost normal again.

And then I saw_him_. Harry. He was standing with his idiotic friends, and his hair was a mess. His trunk looked as though it were about to fall apart, and _he_ looked as though he hadn't slept in days. I should have been contemptuous. I should have been _angry_, but the second he stepped into view I realised that it wasn't contempt or _anger_ I felt so much as relief. The feeling which had been bubbling up inside of me this whole time, the rapid heartbeat, the flushed face, that hadn't been nerves– it had been anticipation. The realisation filled me with rage.

What was wrong with me? Why on earth should I excited to see Harry? Messy, awful, average-looking, _lying_ Harry? But then, it _wasn't_ excited, not really…. It was closer to _needing_, it was like I'd been waiting to see him, and now that he was here, I could finally relax. Those feelings didn't meld too well with my hatred of him, and that made me nervous. So, as always when I'm confused, I set out to cause trouble, to hurt the people confusing me.

And that was why I did it. It isn't a particularly good excuse. It doesn't inspire any understanding at all, and it doesn't justify what I did. But still, that was why.

That was why at that very second I forgot all thoughts of self-preservation, of upholding my reputation, of respecting Blaise. That was why I turned around and pounced on Blaise, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence by jamming my tongue down his throat.

I was careful not to let Harry know that I'd noticed his presence. _That_ would lead to speculation that I'd only kissed Blaise to annoy him, and that defeated the whole purpose. No, as much as I wanted to shoot him a triumphant and vicious smirk, I resisted, instead settling back down on the balls of my feet and keeping my eyes locked with Blaise's. He looked… surprised? Annoyed? It was always so difficult to tell with him. But then, just for a second, his eyes seemed almost warm. He was surprised, that was for sure, but was he… pleased?

That confused me, but before I had the chance to analyse his expression more closely, I was distracted.

"Harry!" somebody called in confusion, as though he'd suddenly run off, and I couldn't control my sense of triumph. With a vicious smile, I tore my gaze from Blaise's, searching the crowd for where I'd last seen Harry. He was gone, but Bushy Hair and King Weasley were standing there, looking concerned. Yes. I'd _won. _I had won! He'd seen me, and it had upset him… Instinctively I looked back to my partner in crime to share a triumphant smirk, but Blaise's eyes were dark with fury, and I wondered whether I'd imagined that warm glow from before. Yes – they were icy cold and black with rage. Suddenly, I realised just what I'd done, and almost punched myself in frustration.

I'd kissed Blaise.

In front of Harry.

In front of Harry _and_ the entire Hogwarts population.

In front of the _Slytherins_.

A part of me wanted to apologise, but it was too late for that, really, and there would be time later. No, what was important now was for me to play this as coolly as possible and try to repair any damage.

"What?" A voice half-screeched from nearby. Pansy – who else? "You – _what_?"

"Try a little dignity, Pansy." Draco's voice said coldly from my left. "And you two…" I turned to face Draco, only to see that he wasn't looking at me, but rather at Blaise. And he looked almost menacing. "There's no need to make a scene." He sounded incredibly blasé, really, and I supposed that was because he was trying to make the whole, tragic situation seem more normal. But it wasn't, because when purebloods had partners, it mattered. It meant more than just a fling – there was forever the implication that the relationship would go a long way. And that was why no amount of nonchalance on Draco's part could save me. Or Blaise.

"Yeah, wait til we get to the train, at least." Jess said, demonstrating the quick thinking that I'd always admired in her. She was shocked, yes. Confused? Very. But she knew that what I needed was for her act as though this was nothing out of the ordinary. The smaller the reactions, the smaller the eventual fallout. "The parents aren't too far away." Her meaning was clear – be careful, if anyone sees you, you'll never live this down. A cursory glance at the throng of impeccably groomed Pureblood parents told me that none of them had seen, or at least, none of them had fainted. I knew that the two people who would have been watching us were Nepthys Zabini and Narcissa. But I'd seen Narcissa leave, and Nepthys was nowhere in sight. Lucky, too, because I wasn't sure how Narcissa would react. She didn't seem the type to shove me into some last minute marriage (like had happened to Larissa Buckley and Carmeline's cousin Augustin when a family friend had caught them snogging in Diagon Alley), and Nepthys seemed the type to refuse to cooperate, in any case. Still, if anyone else saw and the gossip spread, I'd be ruined for the English nobility.

Blaise hadn't said anything yet, but his face remained completely masked (as per usual) so nobody thought he was upset. Except, perhaps, for me. But what could I do? I'd made my bed, and now I'd have to lie in it. This wasn't some drunken snog in a dark corner at a ball, this was an expression of affection in broad daylight, with the parents standing not too far away. I could hardly blame alcohol. I had to make a go of it, and try and make it seem as though we were, if not a _traditional_ couple, at least something bordering on _committed._ Ever so subtly, I leaned against him, carefully nudging his arm a little. There was a moment of intense suspense before he finally relented and shifted enough that I could slide under his arm, as though we were hugging. I could feel the rage coming off of him in waves.

"My fault!" I said with an easy laugh. "You're right, Jess – that was risky. We wouldn't want the parents finding out."

And just like that, I categorised my relationship with Blaise – _casual_. By suggesting that it was a secret, I basically informed my peers that we weren't planning on it going anywhere at all, and _especially_ not outside of Hogwarts. Of course, most purebloods who entered these sorts of covert, 'Hogwarts-only' relationships eventually made it official, but I'd done my best. The damage had been mitigated, if only slightly.

Slowly but surely, the crowd around us began to return to normal. One by one they tore their gazes away, and with Draco and Jess staunchly driving the conversation down more standard paths, the Slytherins eventually relaxed. By the time we trooped onto the train, everybody was acting more or less normally. Crabbe and Goyle were hulking around the place, Draco had one arm draped around Pansy, Tracey and Daphne (in their final year, thank Merlin!) were gossiping with the girls. I was walking with Jess and Carmeline, still unable to believe the events of the morning. I wasn't sure how Blaise and I had moved away from each other – perhaps I dropped back, or maybe he moved forwards, but either way, we hardly looked like a happy couple. He was walking alone, somewhere ahead of me.

"So…." Carmeline had caught up with us just in time to see the kiss. She had tactfully declined to mention it. "Your hair… is different."

I tossed my head haughtily. "It was time for a change."

"Really?" Jess asked lazily. "That 'time' seems to have coincidentally occurred pretty soon after you found out that your fa…" Seeing the look on my face, she sighed and stopped talking abruptly. "You're so _touchy._" She complained. I almost longed for the time when she and Carmeline had so briefly been careful around me, worried they'd upset me – those few days following the Battle at the Ministry had been so very peaceful. I'd known it couldn't last, and at the time, I'd wanted it to end. "Anyway," Jess continued. "I _like_ it, but I think probably you could have done something a little less drastic."

"When I want to rebel against my parents, I wear my robes a little shorter." Carmeline suggested sweetly.

Even Jess rolled her eyes. "Sweetie, I don't think that counts." She said patronisingly. "Now, I used to give them the silent treatment…"

I shrugged. "The silent treatment is pretty much my default relationship with Narcissa anyway." I told them.

Jess' nod was understanding. "Yeah. Well, I don't really _do_ the silent treatment anymore." She frowned. "My parents seemed to like it."

"Estelle…" A voice called dreamily just as I grinned at Jess. I glanced over my shoulder to see Luna standing behind me, in all of her bizarre glory. She was clutching a copy of the quibbler in one hand and a pair of hideously ridiculous glasses in the other, and she seemed to have somehow enchanted a single section of her hair to float in an elaborate and ever-changing swirl above her head.

I waited for my normal reaction to Luna's presence, and almost felt my indulgently affectionate smile forming, but then it stopped so suddenly that I almost gasped. "Hi, Luna." I said slowly, forcing that smile onto my face. After all, I was a master at masking my emotions. The truth was, seeing Luna unnerved me more than I would ever have expected. I supposed absently that it must be because she was at the Ministry. Or perhaps because she'd been sitting on the other side of the hospital ward the day that Harry tore my world apart. Yes, she made me jump with nerves, but I hid it well, and nobody ever saw through my acts.

Except, of course, for Luna and her crazy glasses. She cocked her head to one side. "Are you alright, Estelle?" She asked softly. "Your colours look so… brown today."

I blinked. "My- my _colours_?"

Luna nodded, waving her hands vaguely around, as though painting patterns in the air around my face. "Yes. You're so….. cold, Estelle. All grey, and brown, and white."

I glanced down at my bright blue skirt and my myriad of rainbow bracelets in every conceivable colour, save for grey and brown. "Um, yeah."

"You can sit with us." She said suddenly, changing the subject with an abruptness which only she could make seem casual.

As she spoke, I glanced behind her to see Longbottom and Harry waiting by a compartment. My face flushed. "I…" But I didn't have to answer, because suddenly I felt Blaise behind me.

"Coming?" He asked darkly.

I wanted to say no. I _really_ did, but the truth was that I just couldn't. It was strange, I reflected as I gave Luna a sad little wave and followed Blaise, that I had fallen into the pattern of doing not what I _wanted_ to do, but what I was expected to do. I wasn't sure when exactly the change had occurred. Before, I'd never cared too much about what anybody said. But now…. Now I was careful not to behave in any sort of suspicious manner, not to be too friendly with Luna and to stay away from Harry.

It wasn't until a few moments later, by which stage we'd already reached Draco's favourite compartment, that I realised the reason; before, I hadn't _wanted_ the things I now did. Before, I didn't _need_ to rebel, because the pureblood way of life was the only conceivable lifestyle on offer. I didn't want to talk to Harry, or sit with Luna. I found Luna interesting, but not important. I thought Harry was an idiot.

I would never have spoken to a Gryffindor, or a Hufflepuff. I wouldn't have _wanted_ to. But the last school year had opened my eyes, and I was left feeling utterly torn. Suddenly, I felt as though there was a façade which I had to uphold which I could have _sworn_ hadn't been there before. The realisation made me weary before I'd even stepped into the compartment.

I snapped out of my reverie as Blaise, not saying a word, held the compartment door open for me, looking particularly annoyed. I hadn't even realised we'd reached the compartment. "Where are Jess and Carmeline?" I asked, my tone much more reserved than normal. That was odd – perhaps I was feeling guilty? I'd have to nip _that_ in the bud – attacks of conscience were never good for scheming.

Blaise noticed the difference, too, and raised his eyebrows speculatively. "Probably sitting with the other fifth years." He said, sounding utterly disinterested. As I watched, he gestured nonchalantly at the compartment we were standing in front of. His meaning was clear – I had to sit with _him_ now. Unfairly annoyed, I pushed past him, entering the compartment with a scowl etched onto my face.

Pansy (who was sitting on Draco's lap) watched my entrance like a hawk. "What's _your_ problem?" She asked petulantly.

I wanted to simply poke out my tongue and ignore her, but a quick look at Draco, sitting behind her, reminded me of my place. _Nothing_ was wrong – I had to act as though _everything_ was normal. "My problem?" I answered, keeping my tone light and disinterested. "I've only just realised that now I have to sit with _you _the whole way to Hogwarts."

She smiled evilly, apparently still quite angry. "You don't _have_ to."

I flopped back onto the seat opposite Draco. "No, I suppose I don't." I said languidly, lighting a cigarette. I felt Blaise sit down elegantly beside me, quite close. "But then, I know the _second_ I left, you'd be quizzing Blaise about…. this." I finished lamely, wishing more than anything that I could take a quick look at Blaise to see his reaction to my words, but knowing that to do so would give the wrong impression. I had to make it seem as though we were effortlessly comfortable together, casual and happy.

"'This' being the two of you?" Pansy asked, leaning forwards. Again, unsure of Blaise's reaction, I gave a noncommittal shrug. Pansy hissed in irritation. "You are _so_ infuriating, Elle!" She announced, and I registered the use of my old nickname. "Blaise! You'll explain, won't you? This really _needs_ to be explained."

I stiffened imperceptibly, waiting for his answer. What would he say? Would he tell her the truth? That there wasn't anything between us, not really? But he said nothing. The look on his face, though, must have been pretty impressive, because Pansy almost visibly recoiled. Watching her hasty retreat into the safety of Draco's embrace, I felt myself release a breath I'd been holding possibly for the entire exchange. I was acutely aware that at any second, Blaise could humiliate me completely, and reveal me as a fraud – an _obsessive_ fraud, it seemed. So far, he hadn't said a word for or against me. Instead, he'd carried on as he always had, being quiet and haughty. Perhaps, I reasoned, he was in shock. Perhaps soon he'd come back to his senses and denounce me in front of Pansy Parkinson (and therefore the whole school, by proxy). Or maybe, he'd play along. Maybe he'd act as though we were together quite happily. _Maybe_, I thought hopefully, he didn't even realise I'd only kissed him to annoy Harry… maybe he thought I really _did_ want a relationship. But no – I'd seen the look on his face on the platform. He knew.

So then _why_ hadn't he said anything? What was he thinking? I cast a casual glance up at him, but his face was utterly impassive. He wasn't even looking at me. It was so horribly suspenseful! I was completely on edge, and so skittish that I was close to hyperventilating. And yet, I was managing to look calm. Carefully, I tested the boundaries of this odd little stale-mate Blaise and I were trapped in. I shifted a little on my chair, curling my legs up under me and moving so that Blaise and I were shoulder to shoulder. He didn't even tense. Cautiously, I leaned my head against his shoulder, faking a yawn.

He didn't say a word.

I should have been reassured. Surely this meant that he was going to follow through? That he would play my little game until such a time that we sat down and had a talk about it. But I felt, if anything, worse. Because until we'd had that talk, I didn't know what he was planning, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding my fate and reputation in the palm of his hand, ready to crush it if I so much as irked him. I was utterly miserable.

And yet, the time passed uneventfully. People spoke about the weather, and our holidays. Blaise said nothing. I said nothing.

Pansy complained about the horrible new muggle family that had moved in down the road, and Draco pointed out that if her parents had opted for a country manor like the rest of us, she wouldn't have that problem. Blaise said nothing. I said nothing.

Draco talked about quidditch. Crabbe and Goyle ventured a comment or two. Blaise said nothing. I said nothing.

And yet, nobody seemed to suspect that anything was amiss. Blaise and I must have appeared quite comfortable together – it had been all of half an hour, and yet already we were sitting side-by-side, and his arm was draped around me as though it belonged there. But while it looked charming and natural enough to raise no complaint from Pansy, I could feel his rage bubbling up inside of him. That was, I thought, almost worse than when I hadn't been able to tell what he was thinking. Now, despite my lazy posture and cheerful smile, I felt as though my stomach was tied up in knots. Any moment, Blaise might crack and announce that the two of us weren't together. I waited anxiously.

In my situation, most people would probably be careful not to push Blaise too far. Logic dictates that if you've forced somebody into an uncomfortable situation, you don't rub their face in it. But I wasn't of that school of thought. I was more of an 'in for a penny, in for a pound' sort of girl. It was likely that Blaise would reveal the truth, I knew that. But on the off chance that he didn't, I didn't want Pansy or somebody else figuring it out because we hadn't acted like a couple. So I dedicated myself to the task, snuggling like a pro and tracing swirly patterns on his wrist with the tip of my finger. He reciprocated, too. When the lady arrived with the trolley, he bought me a chocolate frog without being asked, and we shared a pack of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans like the closest of couples.

"Estelle? Did you _hear_ me?" I glanced up to see Blaise looking at me, his eyes dark and hooded. They were the first words he'd spoken to me or anybody since we'd gotten on the train, and although they weren't exactly scathing, they were far from affectionate. With typical Zabini elegance (the type that only comes with supreme nonchalance) he waved a piece of parchment under my nose. "We've been invited to a party."

I plucked the parchment from his hands, frowning as I read over the invitation. It was addressed to me, not Blaise, but I knew he'd never have mentioned it if he hadn't received an invitation as well. "Hm. Slughorn, is it?" I shrugged, hyper-aware of how important it was that I seemed casual. "I don't really think this would be my sort of party." I said, my mind miles away.

Blaise waggled the invitation in my face again. "It's a _party_, Estelle." He said, sounding supremely bored. "Since when have you ever been picky?" He probably sounded normal to the others, but I could hear the venom in his voice. It made me defensive, and that was _never_ a good sign, especially when I was trying to be clever.

My scheming had always been hindered by my sharp temper, and this was no exception. I raised an eyebrow. "Since when have your standards been so low?" I asked Blaise almost rudely.

"I think we can pinpoint _that_ fairly easily." Pansy said sweetly, shooting a poisonous glare at me.

I ignored her. "You want to attend a party thrown by a _teacher_- on a train!" I scoffed. "Do you think that there will be alcohol there? You think you'll play 'spin the bottle'? Because I think you'll spend the whole time talking. Probably about the weather or politics."

Too late I realised that annoying Blaise wasn't the smartest move considering my situation. It was, however, far too late to worry about that, and to change my demeanour now would just raise suspicions. So instead, I sighed, running a hand through my hair, and sank back into my seat, making sure that I was practically sitting on his lap. "Can't we just stay here?" I whined. And then, making my smile mischievous, I swivelled so that our face were close together. "I bet this Slughorn fellow won't let us sit like this."

Blaise's smile was poisonous. "Well, you know what they say." He said, his tone utterly deadpan. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

I smiled sweetly at him, trying to conceal my anxiety. "Maybe I should stay here, then?" I suggested. And _you_ can go…."

"I don't think so." Blaise said, smiling like the devil. "I really don't think I could _stand_ to get any fonder of you."

I groaned, flopping my head back to rest on his shoulder. "Are you _trying_ to punish me?" I demanded. "What have I done to deserve such hell?" Blaise didn't answer. Instead, he raised his eyebrow just a little, his eyes glinting dangerously. I almost fell off his lap. For a moment there, it had seemed like old times and I'd forgotten the precarious position I'd put myself in. His little gesture reminded me. "Fine." I said, making my voice as reluctant yet playful as I could. "Let's go, then."

As I stood up, I became aware of the fact that Draco was engaged in a heated discussion with a scared looking third year. "Are you sure?" He demanded. "Are you certain that there wasn't an invitation for me?" She squeaked anxiously, trembling like a leaf.

Instinctively, I put a calming hand on Draco's arm. "Don't fret, Drake." I said easily, motioning to the third year to run while she could. With a grateful smile, she darted off. "It's probably just to do with our marks or something."

Draco froze, like a deer in the headlights. "What do you mean?"

I thought fast. "He's a new teacher, Drake." I pointed out. "He's probably been given a list of trouble makers and nerds, and all sorts." I suggested. "He might just be trying to straighten out who is who before the year starts."

From the window, Pansy nodded in agreement. "Really, what else could it possibly be?" She asked disdainfully. Everybody _knows_ Blaise is clever, and everybody _knows_ Estelle is practically a halfwit and trouble to boot…"

"Pansy." Draco said, a warning clear in his tone. I sighed in relief at that. He was back to his usual, imperious self.

"And on that note." I heard Blaise drawl from behind me. He pushed open the door, stepping aside to let me out first. "We'll be back soon, I'm sure." He told everybody, before slamming the compartment door firmly shut. It shouldn't have made such a huge difference, being away from the others, but somehow it did. I felt lost and unsure of myself. I wasn't sure how to act around Blaise away from everybody's prying eyes. Usually that was when I was most comfortable, when it was just the two of us. I never needed to perform for Blaise, and he never expected more from me than what I was, and I felt the same about him. But had I ruined that dynamic now?

I turned to face him, apprehensive.

He was watching me with unreadable eyes, but when our gazes met, his expression became exasperated and he turned sharply, walking down the hall. I kept pace with him easily, tossing my hair and trying to appear as though everything was normal. It wasn't.

Blaise broke the silence first, in typical Blaise fashion. "Exactly how long are you planning on continuing this impression of Pansy?" He asked scathingly. "Because if you're planning on playing with your hair and smiling like a twit for the entire luncheon, I'll leave you right here."

I didn't rise to the bait. "Do we need to talk?" I asked, not quite rhetorically.

Blaise didn't even look at me. "Do we need to talk _here_?" He asked, definitely rhetorically.

He was right, of course. As much as I felt the need to clear the air and be reassured of his position, getting into a fight half way through a train journey was not a good idea. We sank back into silence. As we trod down the hallway, I wondered whether or not it would be better to keep quiet or to try and straighten things out now. In the end, though, I was a Slytherin, and I didn't have the courage to turn to Blaise and do the simplest thing – apologise for blindsiding him.

So we continued along

"And who do we have here?" I turned around and couldn't help but let out a little shriek of shock as I came face to face with a huge, walking belly. "Now, now, if _this_ isn't the daughter of that young rascal Sirius Black, then my name isn't Horace Slughorn."

My eyes travelled upwards, catching sight of a face nestled above all that lard. "And what's your name?" I asked vaguely.

"Horace Slughorn." The little face said promptly, with a satisfied smile. "What is yours?"

"Estelle." I told him, regaining my composure after my initial shock. "Estelle Dahlquist."

"Ah!" His eyes lit up happily. "_Dahlquist_- of course. You have exactly her face. Except for the eyes- Black eyes, you have."

"They're grey." I said automatically, and he chuckled, his giant belly reverberating with his glee.

"Yes, indeed." He agreed, still chortling. "Ah, I _knew_ it, I just _knew_ it." He rested his hands comfortably on his stomach, giving it an affectionate little pat. "The first time I saw those two together, I _knew_- do you know, they were pretending to study to avoid me-_ those_ two! As though they were ever the studying types." He shook his head affectionately. "I knew then, that even though they didn't like each other, they'd _be_ together, whether they liked it or not."

I blinked, rather shocked at being so bombarded with information. "What a lovely story." I offered lamely. "I just _adore_ hearing inane anecdotes about my deceased parents!"

Oops. Perhaps I was in a worse mood than I'd realised. "Yes, a wonderful girl, your mother." Slughorn continued, oblivious. "Always thought she'd make more of herself than she did." He shot me a serious look. "I had a photo of her and I." He told me, wagging a fat finger in my direction. "Up on my shelf. But I had to take it down- she kept making rude gestures." I couldn't help but grin a little, and he returned my smile happily. "Yes, you come from good stock, Miss Dahlquist. Very good stock indeed."

My smile was bright, despite my best efforts to look nonchalant. I was warming to this pretentious pile of lard "I like to think so." I said coolly.

Slughorn beamed at me. "Very good, very good." He chortled as I tossed my newly cropped hair. I felt a little like a dog at a show, and it was absolutely baffling to me why my casual sentence should provoke such a cheerful reaction from the professor. It was like I was an animal he was studying – a specimen in a lab – and I'd behaved _just_ as he'd hypothesised that I would. And then his smile grew even wider, and his eyes lit up as though he'd seen some sort of holy vision. I marvelled at my ability to make him happy, until…

"And Harry, m'boy." Slughorn beamed, his wide mouth almost entirely eclipsing his face. Apparently oblivious to my discomfort, he patted me happily on the shoulder and spun me around so that I was face-to-face with the last person I would ever want to see. And yet, being so close to him had made my heart speed up and my cheeks flush. I wanted to punch my traitorous teenage hormones for making me react like that to somebody I should loathe. "Should have known you'd be around here- I expect the two of you are fast friends, with parents like yours." He waggled his finger again. "Apples never fall far from the tree."

"This one did." I drawled quickly, stepping back. "Lovely to meet you, Professor, but I'm afraid I'd best be off." I ignored the feeling of Blaise attempting to tighten his grip on my arm, skilfully extracting myself from his grasp and sidestepping him.

"Estelle-" Harry took another step closer to me. "I need to talk to you." That was the absolute _last_ thing I wanted to happen. Without meeting his gaze, I waved my fingers merrily at Slughorn and sashayed off, careful to put an extra sway in my step. I didn't get particularly far.

"No you don't." I heard Blaise mutter quite close to my ear. Curse his uncanny ability to sneak up on people! "No, you are going to suffer through this with me."

I turned around to say something witty, but before I could, Harry was at my elbow. "Let go of her!" He snapped, flushing furiously.

Blaise's fingers tightened on my arm. "Ah, Gryffindors." He drawled. "Always with the misplaced sense of heroism." And then his tone sharpened. "We are _talking_. Shove off, Potty."

'Now whose got a misplaced sense of heroism?' Was the whiplash response on the tip of my tongue. It was exactly what I would normally say to Blaise in this sort of situation, and it was exactly the sort of rapier wit which had characterised our friendship from the beginning. But just then, with Harry standing so close by, I just wanted Blaise and me to seem like the happiest couple in the universe.

So I bit my tongue. Well, as much as I could. "I don't need to be _rescued_, Blaise." I said coolly. And then turned to Harry. "I am _quite_ capable of getting myself out of…. _Unsavoury_ situations."

I didn't go to the party, in the end. Blaise and Harry were having so much fun facing off that Slughorn came out to chortle good-naturedly at them before pushing them away from each other. In the ensuing hostility, I slipped away unnoticed.

I wasn't sure where I was going – Draco was probably still having a complex about not receiving an invite and I didn't want to be there for that. But I also didn't want to sit with Jess and Carmeline. I hadn't spoken to them properly since I'd found out about Sirius Black, and so if I _did_ run to their compartment, you could bet that the discussion would steer that way. Not to mention the veritable interrogation I'd have to suffer through considering the whole Blaise situation. In the end, I didn't need to think – my feet took me all the way up to the front of the train, back to Martin's side, like always. It was only as I was at the door that I realised that Martin might not want me to be there. Perhaps he'd moved the cushion, bolted the door… But when I tried it, it was open, and the cushion was exactly where I'd left it. I spent the rest of the journey curled up in a ball, my knees tucked under my chin, and listening to the reassuring 'chuga-chuga' sound of the train rattling along the tracks. It was so peaceful, so easy, and made all the sweeter by the fact that I knew it wouldn't last.

The journey ended much too soon after that. I'd watched night falling with an unshakeable feeling of dread, knowing as the dark blue spread across the sky, that soon I'd have to go and face the others. They were probably discussing me at that very moment. When the train ground to a halt, I slipped off of my cushion and back through to the carriages. I didn't bother saying goodbye to Martin – he didn't really need to hear it from me.

I pushed against the throng of people, tiredly making my way back to the cabin. I would have just jumped off of the train, but I'd left my bag under my seat – a mistake I truly regretted at that instant. By the time I squeezed through the masses of people shoving their way off of the Hogwarts Express, the crowds were thinning out. Now only a few students remained down the back end of the train – first years who'd forgotten their wands, or sixth years snuggling on the seats. My cabin, thankfully, should have been empty.

Only, it wasn't. As I rounded the corner, approaching it, I saw Draco step out of the door, muttering something and then pulling it shut firmly behind him. "Draco?" I called.

He jumped. Seeing it was me didn't seem to calm his nerves, either. "Estelle." He snapped, smoothing his hair back. "What are you doing here? And where did you go?"

I glanced away from him. "I need to get my bag." I said, resolutely avoiding the second question. "I left it in the cabin." To my surprise, Draco stepped protectively in front of the door. Exasperated, I folded my arms. "Draco, I need my bag. _Move_." Draco glanced quickly behind him, but didn't even step aside. "Draco!" I snapped again. "Just – _move_! _Mon dieu!_"

"You…" Draco bit back his words, covering his mouth with his hand. "Just – if you wait here, I'll…" I watched him, waiting for an explanation that wasn't coming. "I'll… I'll get it! You go outside." I didn't move, and he almost visibly spasmed. "Wait _outside_, Estelle!"

Frustrated, I threw my hands in the air, stalking off of the train from the nearest exit without a thought to what was waiting for me outside. Of course had I considered it I would have realised that my friends were crowded around the platform, ready to mob me.

"There you are!" Carmeline cooed, taking my hand. "We thought you'd come and visit us on the train! We wanted to talk to you!"

I smiled tightly. "And _that_ would be why I didn't…."

"…Why she's here now!" Jess finished for me diplomatically. She smiled widely at me, "Blaise is waiting over there with Parkinson." She said. And then, because she was a girl and my friend, she leant over and whispered. "At least _three_ girls have tried to talk to him – he _ignored_ them." I raised my eyebrows, and she nodded vigorously. "Yes! Belinda, Prudence… Even that Brunedell-Bryce girl went over to flirt, but he hasn't gotten into a carriage with _any_ of them."

And then Carmeline, also being a girl and my friend, chimed in with, "he is waiting for _you_!"

I gave a nervous laugh. "No, guys… really, it's very casual…"

Jess gave me a stern look. "Elle, that line would work if you were talking about any other guy." She said seriously. "But we're talking about Zabini here. Don't patronise us."

I shot her a glare, taking her arm and pulling her closer. "Don't – don't talk like that in public." I hissed. "I can explain to you later, but please!" Jess gave a resigned sigh, throwing her hands up in surrender. "Come on." I said, forcing a smile onto my face. "Let's go and find the boys."

They were indeed waiting for us. Blaise was lounging against a post, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, with Pansy pacing back and forth in front of them. At my approach, He glanced up, meeting my gaze. With a sigh, I walked to him, stopping just inches away, my heart pounding apprehensively. "I cannot _believe_ that you left me alone at lunch with that pathetic old man and that moronic Gryffindor." He snapped.

Pansy whirled to face the two of us. "He came back in a terrifically bad mood." She complained. "And because _you_ weren't there, he just snapped at Draco and I." I realised in that second that Pansy considered it _my_ responsibility to placate Blaise. With a surge of triumph, the realisation that she considered the two of us an authentic couple hit me.

I shot her a mocking smile. "As his friends, you should be prepared to put up with some of that." I began, but Blaise interrupted me, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the others before I could finish. "What?" I demanded, before remembering that I was trying to stay in his good books. Quickly, I altered my tone. "That is, how can I help you…?"

"Try not to be so utterly _common_, Estelle." He snapped. "If you must attempt to ingratiate yourself, do so with the subtlety of which I _know_ you are capable."

I sighed. "Fine. What?" I asked, not bothering to be even slightly polite. He just watched me, and I shifted uncomfortably. "Look, if I had stayed at that silly little party…"

"As though I care about _that_!" Blaise scoffed. "I wanted to ask you... about Draco." I stilled, listening carefully. "He was insinuating on the train that…"

"He was lying." I said instantly, guessing just what Draco had been saying. "Boasting. He's been doing that since Lucius was…"

Blaise's eyes turned dark. "Fine." He snapped, cutting me off. "Fine then. _Lie_ to me. It isn't as though I've proved myself trustworthy, is it?"

The guilt washed over me the second he said those words. I bit my lip, uncharacteristically remorseful, and reached out to touch his arm. "Blaise…"

"Don't bother." He said. "We can discuss _everything_ at length. _Later_."

"Come _on, _lovebirds!" Jess called, interrupting us. I'd never been happier. "Let's get a carriage! They've just arrived and Draco's back with Estelle's bag…." Laughing with relief at this turn of events, I turned to face her, and screamed in shock.

Standing at the front of the carriage were two huge, leathery horses, with massive wings folded in at their sides. One pawed the ground, meeting my eyes and tossing its head. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut – and I'd thought Blaise was the only thing I had to worry about at the moment.

"Estelle?" Zabini drawled lazily from by my side. "Are you feeling quite alright?"

"I'm walking." I said, when I could finally speak again. "You go ahead."

_Stay down. Don't you ever do what you're told? Grey eyes on grey eyes- flash of red…. Last laugh._

"What?" Draco (who'd strolled up to us, shoving my bag into my arms) and Blaise exchanged looks. "Just- just get in the carriage, Estelle."

"I said I'm _walking_." I shouted at them, striding away, hands buried in my pockets.

"Elle!" I turned, hoping that Blaise was coming with me. Even if things were odd at the moment, the two of us had always been able to just push everything aside and simply _be_ together, and right now I _needed_ that easiness. But he was already in the carriage, sitting next to Jess. Instead, it was Draco who'd called my name. Huffing angrily, he jogged up to my side. "What is your problem?"

I shrugged angrily. "I can see them."

"See what?"

"The thestrals." I answered testily, rubbing away the tears in my eyes with the heel of my hand. "I can see them now." By my side Draco was so quiet that I thought perhaps he'd left. But he hadn't, he just didn't have anything really to say. We walked along in silence as the carriages rattled past us. My thoughts wandered back to just a year ago, when the carriages had been a pretty extra- something I'd never really considered. Once, they'd just seemed like decoration. I'd thought they were charming. I squeezed my eyes shut as one of them passed close by us, the Thestral's wing brushing gently against my arm. "_Merde_." I hissed, angrily wiping at my eyes. Furious, I shot a glare at Draco. "Nobody can know about this, Draco." I snapped. "Nobody. You can say that I… I wanted a walk."

Draco didn't answer straight away, instead walking alongside me in silence. Eventually, in a voice much calmer than I'd heard from him recently, he said, "well, they'll assume you and Blaise fought." That was true. I hadn't even thought of that.

"_Merde_." I repeated. "Damn. Alright…." I thought over my options. It would be humiliating for Blaise and I to 'break up' so soon after I'd so openly displayed my affection for him.

"Don't over think it." Draco sighed from beside me. "In fact, I think this is a perfect opportunity. You can pretend that it's over, and then this idiotic game can end." He shot me a look. "I honestly have no clue what you were thinking."

"I can't _do_ that." I snapped. How had he not realised the problem with that outcome yet? Was I the _only_ person capable of quickly summing up the pros and cons of a decision? "It will look terrible! Like I was just some clingy _putain_ who deluded herself into thinking…."

Draco held up a hand to stop me. "You're right." We fell back into silence. After yet another carriage passed us by, Draco switched sides with me, shielding me from the thestrals. Eventually, he sighed. "well, I suppose you'll just have to keep it up, then." I shot him a hurt look, shocked by his callousness, but he just shrugged. "I don't know what possessed you, but you've made your decision and you'll just have to live with it." He shot me a glance. "Assuming you want to end this, you can just allow it to peter out… some sort of rumour, perhaps, about an arranged marriage?"

I nodded thoughtfully, squeezing my eyes shut as another thestral passed by tossing its head. The students on board were clearly second year, and they seemed to think it was hilarious travelling in a horseless carriage. Little shits. They knew nothing. "That might work." I said through clenched teeth. "We shall see."

To my surprise I felt his hand on my shoulder. I stiffened instantly, not used to this closeness. We hadn't ever been the sort to hug or show affection, but especially not lately, with Draco so bitter and angry. Draco must have sensed my unease, because straight away his hand was gone as though it had never been there. "You know." He said conversationally, "I knew Sirius Black died at the Ministry." He shot me a look. "But I didn't realise you'd seen it." I nodded sharply, but didn't say a word and for a while we walked in silence yet again. But then, almost musingly, Draco spoke. "It must be strange… watching somebody die." That seemed like an insensitive thing to say, and instinctively my arms folded tightly across my chest. "Watching… the life leave them. Does it change you, Estelle? Are you different now?"

I didn't answer him. I _couldn't_ answer him. But he didn't pressure me, and we didn't speak again until we reached the school.

….

A/N: You know how this works! Please review, and if there are any characters or scenes you particularly want to see, just let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

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I skipped the feast. Draco didn't say a word when I headed straight for the dungeons, and I was stealthy enough to get past the teachers who were herding the wide-eyed first years into the hall. I didn't want to hear the sorting hat sing, or watch everybody laugh together. I was aware that I was only furthering any rumours which might have sprung up about Blaise and me. But I really didn't want to worry about that. Not right at that moment.

What I wanted was to start over. This wasn't how I'd imagined this year playing out. Already it was slipping out of my control, and I'd only been in contact with my classmates for less than a day. As I trooped down the stairs, I vaguely remembered how alone I'd felt during the holidays, how abandoned. Now I would have given _anything_ to have that solitude returned to me.

But I couldn't, at least not without Narcissa contravening some fairly serious wizarding education laws, and the Malfoy family was probably in enough trouble already. No, I was going to be stuck here for ages, and I'd already confused everything. I hadn't been able to do things on _my_ terms, and, I decided as I snuck into my old dorm and collapsed on the bed, I needed to change that.

I buried my head into my pillow, reflecting on how I'd felt this time last year, when I'd known nothing of Harry Potter or You Know Who or any sort of trouble. I'd been excited, in my own muted sort of way, glad to begin the year and full of anticipation. I'd had mild daydreams about finding a boyfriend, perhaps, or causing a scandal.

Well, I'd done that alright.

It wasn't half as satisfying as I'd imagined it would be.

I had to reset this year. Some things I couldn't change. Like the fact that the entire school thought I was a death eater. Like the fact that everybody knew I was Sirius Black's bastard. Like the fact that I was bizarrely attracted to stupid Harry, and the fact that I was in a fake relationship with Blaise.

At that thought, I groaned, sitting up in bed and coming face to face with my reflection in the full length mirror on the far wall. The sight made me want to laugh. How had I ever thought that dark hair suited me? My skin looked almost ethereally pale against the blue-black, and my eyes looked freakishly large, weighed down by huge purple bags. I looked deranged. I looked like a disaster.

And that seemed fairly appropriate because, from an objective perspective, my life was a disaster.

I gave a loud sigh, collapsing back onto my bed and gazing at the ceiling, which was much less likely to give me a complex.

I was in too deep, that much was clear. I had messed everything up. In my position, most people would just curl up and cry, and believe me when I say that the idea was tempting. But truthfully I have never been much of a one for defeatist attitudes, and I was determined that if I'd started down this road, I'd finish it.

After all, it isn't what you've got to work with, it's what you _do_ with it! 'If life gives you lemons, make lemonade' is the saying, I believe.

It was the spin you put on things, and I was confident I could pull off my mess of a life with enough swagger to save my reputation. So, comforted by this resolution, I drew the curtains on my bed and lay down to sleep. Nobody, I was determined, would see me til the morning. The morning was when I was going to begin anew.

…..

I arrived at breakfast almost fifteen minutes late. Jess and Carmeline had both tried to wake me, but I'd staunchly ignored their valiant attempts – friendship was all very well and good, but if I was going to pull this off, I needed to make an entrance.

So, everybody was already halfway through their meals by the time I arrived at the Great Hall.

And I looked good.

I'd dug up a pair of sewing scissors from god knows where and sheared off the bottom half of my robes. Then I'd taken them in a little. Alright, a lot. They were tight and very short. Add to that a couple of layers of black tulle under my robes (about an inch of which was visible under the skirt) and a nice green sash I'd used to cinch in the waist, and you had an interesting interpretation of the Hogwarts uniform. A very _Dahlquist_ interpretation.

I'd kept the school tie, naturally. And the shirt. And I'd even tied a nice big bow in my hair with a green ribbon. Smudged eyeliner, lipgloss- it was all very different to how I'd looked last year, and people were noticing.

I'll have you know that it's pretty nerve-wracking; trying a whole new look and waiting to see what people think of it. Terrifying, really. Will they laugh? Will they sneer? I didn't know and it scared me.

But they didn't laugh or sneer. They _watched_

All of them.

Harry, too.

I wish I could say that I didn't even think of him as I walked past. But I did. My eyes sought his immediately, even if I wouldn't hold his gaze. That moment, as I passed the Gryffindor table, made my heart beat even faster, and my eyes felt hot. But I knew better than to look at him – that would have ruined everything.

I wish I could deny enjoying it. But I can't. There's a certain power in commanding that much attention, a certain _magic._ I'd always been pretty, I knew that, and pretty girls would always get _some_ attention, but I'd never truly made any attempt to stand out. Until now. Now, I was embracing my legacy. My life was a royal mess and the whole school knew it, so I may as well play the part they expected me to – rebel, messed-up, death eater spawn.

"She's the Malfoy girl." I heard somebody hiss as I glided past, head held high.

"Nuh-uh!" Somebody snapped back at them. "Don't you know anything? She's the _Black_ girl!" Those words made my lips curl up into a tiny smile. The Black girl… Was that who I was now? Draco would not be pleased.

It was good that I'd revelled in the gawking of the Hufflepuffs and the Gryffindors, because Slytherins didn't operate that way, and as I approached the house table, most of them were ignoring me completely. That was alright, I was used to that. After all, it wouldn't do to appear _interested_ – I had no doubt that they'd all taken a quick peek when I'd walked in, and were now trying to appear unimpressed.

Slytherins were quite good at appearing unimpressed.

I took my seat next to Blaise, sliding in between him and Daphne Greengrass, who shot me a look of utter disgust. "Sorry, _Cherie_." I said throatily, smiling at her. "That's where I sit."

Blaise appeared utterly disinterested in my new appearance. As I took my seat, he shot me a quick look and then sighed, returning to buttering his toast. "Less eyeliner." He said eventually, almost in a whisper. But Zabinis _never_ whispered. "It's a fine line between rebel and slag, and I won't be seen with the latter."

Sound advice. I made a note to fix that later.

At that moment, to Daphne's chagrin, Jess squeezed in next to me, pushing the poor girl further down the bench. "Interesting." She said casually. "You've certainly got the boys in a tiff." Her eyes ran over my robes. "I do like the uniform."

Maintaining my nonchalant demeanour, I raised an eyebrow. "Too much?" I asked quietly.

Jess frowned consideringly. "No." She said finally. "No you look…. You look very _cool_, Estelle. Perhaps a tad overdressed for Defence Against the Dark Arts, but what can you do?" And then she paused. "Less eyeliner, maybe?"

I grinned. "So I've been told." Around us, people were starting to get up to go to classes in a cacophony of scraping benches and clattering cutlery. I looked to Blaise, touching his arm. "I have Defence Against the Dark Arts now." I told him. "But I think I have a free before lunch."

He looked almost as though he wanted to tell me to piss off, but instead he just sighed. "I have Arithmancy before lunch." He said. "I suppose I'll see you _at_ lunch." I shot him a grateful smile, pleased that Slytherin couples didn't need to be exuberant to be considered legitimate. Blaise didn't return it, opting instead to walk off.

Feeling suddenly guilty, I grabbed his arm. "Blaise…."

He turned back to face me, and his eyes looked almost affectionate. For a second, at least. Then his eyes returned to their usual exasperated state."We can talk _later_, Elle." He said, pulling away. "Later."

As I watched him walk away, I heard a low chuckle right by my ear. "Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?" Marcus Cleevebridge was standing behind me, grinning. "Rumour said that you broke up last night."

I stood up. "Rumour is a lying bitch." I told him calmly. "We're _fine_."

"Stop annoying her, Cleevebridge!" Carmeline said good-naturedly from behind him. Then, catching my eye, she beamed at me. "Estelle! I do like your uniform."

"I never said I didn't like her uniform." Marcus pointed out, waggling his eyebrows.

Carmeline looked less than impressed. "Blaise will kill you." She said seriously, then beamed at me. "Come on! Defence Against the Dark Arts, first."

My smile broadened. "Ah. Crazy new teacher." I said. "I cannot wait to see _him_ fighting off dark wizards."

From my other side, Jess let out a loud sigh and rolled her eyes. "See, _this_ is why you ought to come to the feast more often." She said. "Slughorn isn't the DADA teacher. He's the _Potions_ teacher." She let that sink in before she finished with. "Our DADA teacher is _Snape_."

That stopped me dead in my tracks. "_Snape_?" I demanded, incredulous. "Greasy Snape? Head of House Snape?"

Carmeline nodded. "The very same. It's exciting, isn't it?"

We were walking towards the classroom now, and I mused over her statement. "I'm not sure I'd use the word _exciting_…" I drawled. "Oh, wait, I'll catch up with you!" I said, as I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Less eyeliner, I'd been told. This was the perfect moment to rectify that. "I have to go to the bathroom… save me a seat?" I didn't wait for an answer, instead strolling in the opposite direction to the classroom, my head held high.

In my opinion (though I didn't want to count my hippogriff eggs before they'd hatched) the morning had gone quite well. Blaise and I had dispelled any rumours of a breakup by sitting together, and my new look seemed to have made a favourable impression… Somehow, nothing had gone wrong.

"Estelle." I stopped dead. Clearly, I had spoken too soon, but the real question was _how the hell did Harry Potter manage to sneak up on me_? Quickly, I pushed that uncertain anger aside. I couldn't deal with that right now, rather I had to establish the change in our relationship. Yesterday I'd been so uncertain with Harry that I'd surely given him the impression that there was hope, but I was clamping down on those feelings now. I said nothing as he moved closer to me, but I kept my back to him and his cursed eyes! After establishing that I wasn't going to run away, he spoke again, his voice uncertain and careful. "I, uh, noticed your new look."

I squeezed my eyes shut for the briefest of moments. What did I say? What _could_ I say? Being angry was pointless. That wasn't who I was anymore. That anger belonged to Estelle Dahlquist, the orphan who'd placed her trust in the wrong boy and had her heart broken. I wasn't her any more – now I was Estelle Black, and she really didn't give a shit. Harry Potter was_ beneath_ Estelle Black. He was nothing to her. I struggled to shove my emotions into order…. What would I have said to Harry before I cared about him? How would I have reacted?

At that second, the image of me crouched on the floor picking up my scattered books while Harry looked sheepishly on sped across my mind. And then I had it. "It isn't exactly _subtle_, Potter." I drawled in a reasonable impression of Blaise. And then I strode off, hoping the disaster had been averted.

Of course, it hadn't. He followed. Gryffindors seem to be a tenacious bunch.

He followed me quite a way up to the girls bathrooms, before realising where I was heading. Harry was smart enough to know that if he waited too long to try and talk to me again, I'd be out of reach in the girls toilets, where he _couldn't_ follow me.

"Dahlquist- Estelle."

I looked over my shoulder, "Potter." I said, making sure that my tone was equal parts scathing and disinterested. It felt strange not using his name, but I quashed that feeling before it upset me. "Go bother somebody else." But a part of me was curious. What would he say? What excuses would he make? My heart was pounding just a little too fast and I resented myself for being anxious to hear him speak. But the moment dragged on and on and I wondered if he'd lost his nerve.

I should have known better. Harry _didn't_ lose his nerve. Ever. "So." He said, in the clumsiest attempt to segue into a casual conversation that I'd ever heard. "You're with Zabini now?"

Gryffindors were just atrocious at any sort of intrigue! Was that him attempting to be subtle? As though it was perfectly natural for him to chase a girl who openly despised him all the way to the girls' bathrooms to ask about her love life.

"I'm not _with_ Zabini, Potter." I said, my lip curling in distaste, "not that it is any of your business, in any case."

He frowned, "I saw you- on the platform, I _saw_ you….. snogging" he made a disgusted face and shook his head roughly, as though trying to shake off the images. "And afterwards… in the cabin… Parkinson _asked_ Zabini, and he didn't deny it…"

I didn't know how Potter knew what they'd discussed in the Slytherin cabin on the Hogwarts Express, but that was hardly an issue to address then. "I'm not _with_ him as a couple is what I meant," I snapped. And then, almost despite myself, I was compelled to tell him the truth. "We're just… friends. With benefits." I watched his face darken with rage as I scratched at my nailpolish. I didn't know why I'd done it. I'd only kissed Blaise to make Harry jealous and now here I was, telling Harry it was nothing at all.

But, as counter-productive as my sudden compulsion to be _honest_ seemed, to my surprise Harry looked even angrier to hear the truth. "You're too good for that, Estelle." He told me, voice low and controlled.

The sound of his voice tugged deep at my stomach, and I realised that (somewhat perversely) I was _enjoying_ disappointing him. I shrugged, "maybe." I agreed, "but I enjoy it. It doesn't need much from me- I only get good out of it, that's why they call it _benefits_. Because it _benefits_ you."

He made a strangled sort of laughing sound. "Oh, and it _benefits_ you to get called a slag?"

Weak. And also utterly unlike him. I felt gratified to see that 'nice guy' façade shatter under pressure before my very eyes. I raised an eyebrow. "Nobody's dared call me a slag." I pointed out. "Til now."

Harry flushed, looking almost shamefaced, but he held my gaze steadily, not ready to back down. "Your father…" He tried again, looking worried.

"My _father_ was just like Blaise." I pointed out. "And I'd ask him for advice on the situation, but unfortunately, that won't be possible." I accompanied this sentence with a significant look in Harry's direction and was rewarded by the sight of his hands clenching into fists.

"Stop _doing_ that." He snapped. "Stop… stop acting like you blame me!"

I shrugged. "Well, maybe I _do_ blame you." I suggested, but this was getting too close to the truth now, and my voice didn't sound quite as nonchalant as I would have liked. "Maybe I _do_ blame you for his death. Maybe I have every right to." Now my voice was practically quivering – I was humiliated.

But Gryffindors have their good points, and while a Slytherin would have torn me to pieces, Harry just stood there, looking wildly uncomfortable. For a moment I felt extremely resentful of him – how could _he_ be ill at ease when I was the one on the verge of tears (and consequently, humiliation). But in a flash, I realised why he looked so awkward. He wanted to _comfort_ me. It was there in his posture – leaning slightly towards me, hands twitching. And his eyes – fixed on mine and, as always, earnest. He wanted so badly to go to me, but he knew better. He knew I didn't want that, would never ever want that.

And it was just as well that he'd worked that out, because even seeing that he _wanted_ to comfort me filled me with rage. If he wanted to comfort me, it meant that I looked weak, and that was something I could never stand. I was _strong_, and he had no right to want to protect me. Just like that, my rush of emotion dissipated, and I was left feeling cold and aloof, and _disgusted _with Harry. He saw the change in me – my eyes turned cold, and my back straightened. His shoulder slumped with defeat as he realised that I had closed myself off to him. "I'm late for class." I said, my tone icy. Before I left, I glanced once more over my shoulder to where Harry was standing almost forlornly. "You'd best stay away from me, Potter." I hissed. "If you try and talk to me again…. I'll …" I tried to think of a threat, a _good_ one to keep him away. I was too weak when he was around. It occurred to me within a millisecond, and my mouth curved into the tiniest of smiles. "I'll set my Aunt on you." I said coldly, "and then you and Sirius can be reunited."

I was disgusted with myself for saying it – for threatening to send Bellatrix to hurt him, for implying that Bellatrix and I had anything to do with each other. As I strode decisively away from him, I could feel the bile rising in my throat. But, I reasoned in a valiant effort to calm my raging conscience, it was necessary. I had to say something _horrible_ to make him give up on me. To make him leave me alone.

And that was what I wanted right now – to be alone.

….

I was so late to Defence Against the Dark Arts that it wasn't even funny.

Not to mention that I was an emotional wreck. The exchange with Potter, which couldn't have lasted more than three minutes, had left me shaky and full of self-loathing. Luckily, you couldn't really see any of that emotional turmoil when you looked at me. I'd fixed my eyeliner and smoothed out my skirt, and I was ready for yet another dramatic entrance.

More than that, I was spoiling for a fight, and I knew just who I could have it with.

"Ten points from Slytherin, Dahlquist." Snape droned as I sauntered into the classroom. "To encourage _punctuality._"

It was perfect. Here he was, my father's old enemy. I may have spat on Sirius Black's memory by suggesting that I was in league with his killer, but here was a way to honour his life – tormenting his nemesis. The corner of my mouth quirked up into a little smile. "Sure thing, professor." I drawled. "Just, how many points would_ I_ need to take off Slytherin to encourage _you_ to wash your hair every once in a while. " I dropped into my seat, not breaking our little staring contest. "_Snivellus_."

Snape paled even more than normal, and his nostrils flared dangerously. "Hark," he said into the deadly silence of the dungeons. "It's Sirius Black- back from the dead."

My grin widened – good old Snape. He'd caught on so quickly. "New and Improved." I winked at him. "And I _shower_ and everything… you could learn a few things."

"Estelle." Jess hissed at me. I turned to her, raising an eyebrow. She took the message and with a dark look in my direction, shut her mouth.

Snape, to his credit, was reacting quite well to the bully of his teenage years coming back to haunt him, albeit in the form of a fifteen year old schoolgirl. "Another ten points." He said coolly. "For disrespect."

I gave a mocking laugh. "And I was always told that people were _rewarded_ for telling the truth!" I sighed. "Perhaps that isn't how it works in England."

"Have you gone bonkers?" Jess hissed at me, digging her nails into my arm. "You'll drain all our points, and the year's barely begun!" I ignored her, tilting my chin defiantly upwards and leaning so far back on my chair that the front two legs were off of the ground. It was Snape's move – I just needed to wait for him to make it.

He looked at me coldly. "Considering the… emotional strain you have been under for the past few weeks, I shall _ignore_ this little tantrum." Snape said coolly. Around me, my housemates breathed a sigh of relief. They were in the clear. However, Snape was far from finished with _me_. "But…." His eyes took on a semi-demonic cast as he flicked his wand, and suddenly my chair was propelling itself across the room with me in it. "Perhaps you'd behave a little better if you were _separated_ from your little gang."

My housemates (despite bristling at being referred to as 'my little gang', especially considering that they had not so much as laughed) watched impassively as my chair ground to a halt in front of Snape's desk. There was a moment where we just stared at each other – black eyes on grey eyes – and in that short time I felt a wave of hate emanating from my Professor, one I wasn't sure I quite deserved, despite my behaviour. That disgust, that _loathing_ meant only one thing – I truly had managed to pull off a convincing imitation of Sirius Black. Perhaps catching sight of the triumph in my eyes, Snape sneered and flicked his wand quickly. When I next tried to speak, nothing came out. "Thank you, Miss Dahlquist for demonstrating that no matter _how_ much bravado one has, no matter how _popular_ one thinks themselves, it is meaningless in the face of superior magic." There wasn't much I could say to that… literally… so I resisted the urge to flip him off, leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. Smiling a small, triumphant smile, Snape addressed the class. "Miss Dahlquist's stupidity has led to her being _easily_ bested, undeniably outclassed. One of the first lessons you must learn in regards to _Defence_ Against the Dark Arts is to _choose _your battles. When fighting an opponent superior in wit, strength and skill," Snape circled my chair pointedly as he spoke. "A truly skilled witch or wizard is able to, in an instant, choose a _method_ of fighting suited to the situation. Those who _thoughtlessly_ and _foolishly_ dive into conflict without having assessed their enemies' capabilities will fall." He stopped circling, facing me. "Won't they, Miss Dahlquist?"I must have looked furious (I certainly felt it) but also like the fight was gone from me, because he smiled maliciously, flicked his wand once more, and I was free speak. But he'd repositioned my chair once more, and now I was sitting with the Gryffindors.

"Of course," Snape continued, "Miss Dahlquist is _not_ my opponent. She is my _student_. And as such, she _will_ learn to behave." His eyes lifted from mine to the rest of the class. "I expect each and every one of you to be _silent_, unless instructed otherwise. I expect no foolish questions – in a true duel, there will be no time for such things. I expect_ all _homework to be completed to the exact specifications I outline." He paused. "Such as the _six_ foot essay Miss Dahlquist will complete on genetic defects inherited through the paternal line." The class winced in sympathy. "I expect the _highest_ quality work. If these expectations are _not_ met, _you_ can expect to find yourselves in detention." He paused again. "Such as the detention Miss Dahlquist will be in every Saturday for a month. Or you can expect to lose points." My housemates held their breath in anticipation. "Such as the _fifty_ points Miss Dahlquist will be losing." There was a general cry of protest from the Slytherin side of the room. "_Unless_!" Snape roared over the students. They quietened. "_Unless_ she is able to refrain from speaking for the remainder of the lesson."

In a second, twelve pairs of eyes were fixed on me. Peer pressure is a pretty powerful force, and despite the fact that by now I was just raring for a fight, I knew it would be better in the long run for me to behave. So, with a shrug, I mimed zipping my lips shut and leaned back nonchalantly in my chair. Snape's cool glare lingered on me for just a moment longer before he turned away and the class continued. Lazily, I cast my gaze around the classroom, taking in my fellow students. Nobody from Slytherin would look at me, except to glare, but around me the Gryffindors were regarding me with a sort of muted admiration. They seemed unsure of what to do or how to act. It was, I suppose, unusual for them to see a Slytherin behaving quite that badly. Truthfully, I was regretting it a little myself. In fact, now that I had calmed down a little I realised that my outburst had probably done more damage than anything else (no matter how satisfying it had felt). Slytherins do _not_ act out so terribly. Everything Snape had said was correct – it isn't clever to just attack headlong. It isn't _Slytherin_. I felt so terribly embarrassed. Too often it seemed that I was slave to my emotions. To my anger and my frustration, in particular. But also… I squeezed my eyes shut as I remembered kissing Blaise on the platform. Revenge.

There was, of course, one common factor that could be identified, linking together almost every incidence of my emotionally driven behaviour.

Than factor was Harry Potter.

…

Let's skip to the end of that week. Emotions were already running high, with Quidditch tryouts scheduled for the weekend and the students adjusting badly to the change from relaxing holidays to rigorous school term. Snape's shift from Potions to DADA had resulted in attendance to potions skyrocketing, and attendance to DADA plummeting, _then_ skyrocketing as Snape tracked down all skivers and made examples of them. The jovial Slughorn became instantly despised and dismissed as a try-hard, while those he favoured were in turn sympathised and ostracised.

Against all logic, he favoured me.

Those weren't the biggest thing on my mind, though. Whatever drama the rest of the school was regaling in, I was busy worrying about other things. First and foremost was my resolution to ignore Harry, one that _he_ refused to comply with.

I'm not sure how, or _why_, but he seemed to have worked out my schedule to the point where he would be in the vicinity every time one of my classes finished. And so, he would 'happen' to be chatting to a friend outside the Greenhouse after my Herbology double, and be strolling casually past the dungeons before Potions, and so on and so forth. I ignored him every single time he tried to talk to me, even if it was to say nothing more than 'hi'. Every night, I read over my father's manuscript to remind myself of exactly what I had lost, and _why_ I had to ignore Harry's pleading eyes and hopeful smile.

That was _one_ problem. The second problem was, of course, Blaise. After our adequately amiable first day, things had plummeted rapidly. We barely spoke, perhaps less than before we were friends. I think we were actively avoiding each other on some level, which for most people is just a natural precursor to the actual confrontation where they talk out their issues. But, not being 'most people', Blaise and I were unlikely to _ever_ engage in said confrontation, me because I was too scared to actually admit to having used him, and Blaise because he was lazy and enjoyed watching me squirm. So our physical contact had been limited, we'd not even _pretended_ to have a conversation… It was all horridly cool between us, and neither one of us seemed capable of making the first move back towards normalcy. I was (for the sake of my mental state) in denial about this. That was one area of my life which I couldn't manage without having to have a seriously uncomfortable grovelling session, and I wasn't quite eager for that.

In the meantime, Draco had disappeared. He was rarely in the common room and _always_ in a bad mood. Pansy was getting particularly stroppy at the lack of attention he was paying her, and seemed to consider the whole thing at least partially my fault. Everybody else seemed to be steering pretty much clear of me. Jess and Carmeline were willing to forgive my little fights with Snape (barely), but the rest of my classmates were getting sick of it. Because of _that_, I was almost pleased that Draco had been so absent for the past week – I did _not_ want to hear his opinions on the subject.

It had been, all in all, a tense week, made all the tenser in Slytherin by the constant news of murders and abductions.

People overlook, I think, how much Slytherin had to deal with during those early days. It was fine for the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to be outraged and disgusted, but for whatever reason that line of thinking was never open to us. Our classmates treated us all like villains from the beginning, and we felt it. It made us cagey, defensive, and _much_ more likely to be mean to the other houses. That, of course, only furthered the stereotype they'd created for us.

And _that_ is where we stood, just one week into the new school year.

It is also why I was so reluctant to join my housemates for breakfast before my first ever weekly detention with Snape was due to begin. And yet, the smell of pancakes lured me up to the Great Hall, and into the usual mess of gossip and intrigue.

Everybody was buzzing about when I glided across to the Slytherin table. The Prophet had just been delivered, hot off of the newsroom, and whatever was in it had people talking. A lot. I didn't really care _what_ the news was (probably, I reasoned, more of the same – murder, abduction, abuse, and all the fault of the Slytherins!) until I reached my house table, only to hear a commotion starting up.

The sixth years (including Draco, for once) were sitting on the edge of the table, their heads close together in some sort of private discussion, while the seventh years lounged around just a little further up. Not for the first time, I noticed that the other Slytherins had left a large gap between themselves and Draco – they seemed to have been giving him a wide berth for the past few days. Or at least, _most_ of them had.

"Is it true, Draco?" Pucey was drawling loudly, jabbing a finger at the Daily Prophet. "Because I have to say, if they're letting in the conductor from the Night Bus, it's hardly a _choosy_ club, is it?" Draco didn't seem to hear him – he was too busy talking to Crabbe and Goyle, although what they were talking _about_ was beyond me. A couple of people giggled at Pucey, but Miranda Althorp hissed at them to be quiet.

"Don't _joke_ about that, guys!" She snapped. "Don't make fun of them… or him." She inclined her head in Draco's direction. "He could have you killed!" She evidently hadn't noticed that I was behind her. Completely distracted by Draco, she shot him a suspicious look before shifting just a little further away and levelling Pucey with another glare.

Pucey's eyes travelled up past Miranda to meet my gaze, and his mouth curved into a smile. "If you're so worried about him knowing you're talking about him, you should probably check to see if his cousin's around before you open your mouth, Althorp."

Miranda stiffened, glancing over her shoulder to meet my gaze. "Oh, _shit_." She said. "Hey, Dahlquist, we were just talking…"

It was strange to see how she had reacted. Just last term, Miranda Althrop would have been more likely to spit on me than say hello. I had dozens of fond memories of her kicking Jess, Carmeline and I off of the couches in the Slytherin dorm without so much as an 'excuse me'. Now my very presence made her anxious. And it was all because of Draco. I took another look at her nervous face, and she repeated again, "seriously – just blabbing away!"

"I don't care." I said, walking away from her. After a moment, I stepped back, ripping the newspaper out of Pucey's hand and taking a look at the headlines. As I skimmed over them, I almost choked on the coffee Carmeline had passed me the second I'd reached the table. Stan Shunpike had been arrested? As a _death eater_? I strode over to Draco's side, ignoring Pucey's protests as I made off with his newspaper. "Drake?" I interrupted his conversation, shoving the paper in front of his face. "Have you _seen_ this?"

It was the first time we'd spoken since Wednesday, but he didn't particularly seem to care. He read the headline, his mouth curving up into a sneer. "Yes." He said, and then, raising his voice, he continued with, "and it's sheer idiocy! As though _he_ would be allowed to be a death eater." The implication in his tone was fairly clear.

The fool. As though our house weren't victimised enough! It wouldn't be long before those Slytherins who _weren't_ affiliated would realise the detriment of keeping Draco around far outweighed any benefits. "As though _you_ would know." I said easily, keeping some semblance of a smile on my face. Draco's smile was mean and patronising – I don't think he'd ever looked at me like that. "Seriously," I said quietly. "You'll get us all into trouble if you keep carrying on."

His eyes met mine slowly, incredulous. I felt oddly exposed in that moment – it felt almost as though he were looking right through me, and was mystified by what he saw. "You… you really don't believe it, do you?"

It was so very clear what he meant, and it made me shiver. He didn't _have_ to convince me, he didn't _need_ to prove a thing! I had known the truth since Snape had helped Narcissa carry him home weeks ago – but that didn't mean I needed to admit it. I decided to steer the conversation away from _that_ particular area. "That Stan Shunpike is a Death Eater? No. The fool can hardly manage an acne clearing spell."

But Draco wasn't in the mood to be distracted. He reached out, grabbing my arm tightly and staring at me with such intensity that I felt uncomfortable. "You don't _believe _it. You _know_ the truth, Estelle, so explain why you _refuse_ to believe it!"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I think that's enough, Draco." I said coolly, acutely aware of the fact that _all_ of our housemates were watching us, as well as a good number of Ravenclaws. The Hufflepuffs were of course too polite to watch, and the Gryffindors were too far away. "You'll cause a scene – you _are_ causing a scene."

Draco sneered. "And that's something you worry about, is it?" He snapped. "Is causing scenes exclusively your trick now?" I rolled my eyes, but he tightened his grip on my arm. "Don't you even _try_ to leave – you can't come off all high and mighty after your little tantrum in Snape's class!"

He wasn't talking about the 'tantrum' on the very first day, but rather an altercation which had happened yesterday involving me, Snape and a jar of flobber worms. Despite my best intentions, I always ended up having some sort of drama in DADA, whether one of my curses 'accidentally' set Snape's desk on fire, or I called him 'Professor Snivellus' without thinking, I never failed to leave that class without having been docked points. "He _picks_ on me." I snapped, but Draco cut me off.

"You pick on _him_." He insisted. "I think it's time you realised who are our allies and who are our enemies." There was a pause. "And you know _exactly_ what I mean by allies, don't you, Estelle?"

My mind flashed back once more to Snape and Narcissa carrying Draco inside the Manor after their little 'meeting'. "No." I said stubbornly. "And I don't care – I have to go…"

"Malfoy." Both Draco and I turned around to see Blaise standing behind us – the most sardonic and unexpected knight-in-shining-armour ever to come to a lady's rescue. "Perhaps it's a little early in the morning to be manhandling your cousin. I thought we'd agreed only after eleven?"

Draco smiled, relaxing his grip just a little. "Yes, _except_ when she's being wilfully obtuse."

Blaise took a step closer. "Obtuse? About what?"

Draco couldn't answer than, and I knew it. Were he to tell Blaise that I refused to believe that he was a… a… you know, then it would look like he'd been lying up until now. Because wouldn't his own cousin be the very first to know it the rumours were true? So Draco just smiled, letting go of my arm. "Nothing." He said finally. "We were just discussing that idiot Night Bus Conductor." Blaise tilted his head back, keeping his gaze fixed on Draco, who shifted uncomfortably. "I have to leave." He said finally. "I'll see you both at lunch." And then he was gone.

I turned back to Blaise, who was watching Draco's retreat thoughtfully. Eventually, his gaze travelled back to me, falling on my forearm. "How's your arm?" He asked, sounding bored. "He looked like he was gripping you quite tightly."

For some reason, the blasé way in which he was addressing me annoyed me more than Draco's behaviour. "You do realise that _this_ is the first time you've properly spoken to me all week?" I snapped at him. Apparently, it was a morning for confrontations I'd previously been avoiding.

Blaise didn't seem fazed. "Is it?" He drawled. "Is it _really_? I wonder what would be making me so _reluctant_ to speak to you." I didn't answer him, just kept staring at him, waiting. To those around us, we probably appeared to be have a relatively civilised discussion. Neither of us had so much as frowned, and our voices had remained relatively level.

I tilted my head back, meeting his gaze squarely. "Think of your reputation, if nothing else" I began, but he glanced quickly away, and I knew that my plea hadn't impressed him. "Come on, Blaise. People are _talking_." I'd stepped closer to him, and now we were close enough to kiss. It probably looked quite sweet to onlookers, but we were glaring daggers at each other.

"Yeah, about _you_." Blaise cut me off quickly, his dark eyes flashing angrily. "They're only talking about _you_ – I made sure of that." Before I could ask him what he meant, he turned on his heel and strode away.

"Well." I glanced over my shoulder to see Pucey standing behind me looking amused. "That was quite the show."

I stiffened imperceptibly. "What nonsense are you spouting now, Pucey?" I drawled as he came to stand beside me, leaning nonchalantly on my shoulder.

With a grin, he nodded after Blaise's retreating form. "That… little lover's… well, whatever you call what you just did."

"They call it a conversation." Jess chimed in, swinging her legs over the bench so that she was facing away from the table. "They call it a boring, restrained conversation." She was not the most supportive friend a girl could have, but as I met her gaze I realised that despite her mocking tone she was expressing serious concern. But then she smiled. "Blaise is watching you, Pucey." She said slyly. "You'd best move your hand away from Estelle's ass." In an instant, Pucey's hand dropped off my shoulder and he jumped about three feet away. Watching him, Jess grinned with amusement. "Although, it's debatable whether he'd even care." Her eyes met mine again. "I haven't seen Blaise touch you once since the school year started."

I shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, please." I said, thinking quickly. "Were you expecting us to wander around holding hands and rubbing our cheeks together?"

"She's right." Pucey agreed, and I raised an eyebrow, surprised by this unexpected champion. But when I looked to Pucey, he shook his head, jerking it towards Jess. "Not you, _her_. Zabini _has_ been staying away. One of the boys was saying that the other day."

"I don't think I _asked_ for your opinion." I snapped at him, before realising the benefits I could reap from the situation. "What did they say?" I asked slyly.

Pucey grinned. "He said that if _he_ were Blaise, he'd be all over your fine self." As it was Pucey I was talking to, that statement was accompanied by a very suggesting wink and once over. "But that you two haven't even snuck off into a broom closet or _anything_."

I forced my face into a cheeky expression. "Not that it's any of your business, but Blaise and I are a little classier than those broom-closet slags." I paused, and Jess and Pucey both waited to hear me finish. "We're a little bit fonder of the Teachers' lounges."

Jess frowned. "Ew." She said simply, leaning her elbows back against the table while Pucey wolf whistled. "That's disgusting… the teachers use those. So many potentially scarring scenarios." I shrugged, in all honesty happy that they'd accepted my bald-faced lie. But I wasn't out of the woods by any means. Rather, my little conversation with Pucey and Jess had made me suddenly anxious. While they flirted half-heartedly with each other, my mind reeled with the possible ramifications of Blaise's and my lack of affectionate behaviour. I'd been avoiding discussing this with him for days, scared of the conversation that would follow any sort of apology or attempt at justification. Now I realised that my reticence may have damaged the situation beyond repair.

"…Estelle? Estelle?" I snapped my head around, meeting Jess' shrewd gaze. "I was just saying how Pucey ought to learn some more manners. Don't you agree?"

"I actually… don't care." I heard myself saying absently. "Yes. I suppose so." I glanced up to see Pucey and Jess watching me, equally confused by my lack of witty retort. "I have to go," I announced abruptly. When I saw that they were both still watching me, I winked. "I think I hear the teachers' lounge calling me name."

"Ew!" Jess called after me as I flounced away. "That's _foul_, Estelle! We don't need to know about your extra-curricular activities."

I found Blaise in the next corridor over, chatting amiably to Daphne Greengrass. When I approached, she rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Oh, look who it is." She drawled mockingly, sharing a look with Blaise. But, evidently not in a confrontational mood, as I got closer she simply grinned at Blaise and sauntered away with an extra swing in her step. As she passed me, she bumped my shoulder quite deliberately before shooting me a scornful smile. "Oops." She drawled before continuing on her way.

Blaise watched my approach with a characteristic lack of emotion. "It was nice to see you and Pucey getting along so well." He sneered coolly as soon as I was within earshot.

But I wasn't in the mood for banter _or_ jealousy. I strode right up to him, keeping a sweet smile on my face, and leaned against him so that our bodies were flush against each other. Then I gazed up at him from under lowered lashes and hissed, "we _really_ need to talk." Before he had a chance to answer, I'd grabbed his tie and dragged him towards the nearest abandoned classroom. As we went, I heard a group of scandalised Ravenclaws muttering to each other about our behaviour. Well, sobeit. At least _these_ people wouldn't say we weren't acting like a couple.

I slammed the classroom door shut behind me and turned to face my 'boyfriend', hands on hips. His eyes travelled lazily around the room, taking in our surroundings, before he met my gaze evenly. "Dragging me into an empty classroom. Just like old times." He said coolly, leaning against a desk. "Is it our anniversary or something?"

The venom in his voice made me wince a little, but I held my ground. "I said we needed to talk." I told him, taking a step closer to him. It had been a week since I'd jumped him at the platform, and we _still_ hadn't even broached the subject. In fact, we'd barely talked at all. I'd been avoiding him religiously, and he seemed absolutely fine with that.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "And _I_ said we would." He answered calmly. "_Later_."

"You've been saying that for days." I pointed out. "And we really need to discuss…." And then, typically, I lost my nerve. What can I say, I'm no Gryffindor, and explaining to your fuckbuddy why you'd pretended that you were in a relationship with him _against_ his wishes takes a fair amount of courage. So, I reconsidered, and came back at him with a different issue. "Do you know what Pucey said?" I asked. Blaise shot me a dark look – he had little patience for rhetorical questions. "He told me that people think it's suspicious that we haven't been sneaking off to snog."

Blaise looked utterly unconcerned. "Fine." He said. "Just because they don't _see_ us sneaking off, doesn't mean we don't. It just means that they're unobservant."

I shot him a patronising glare. "Actually, Blaise, it _does_ means we don't." I pointed out. "Because we _haven't_." I paused. "Although I can't help but admire your ability to be scornful of people who are absolutely correct, you have to admit that since that day on the platform, we haven't we haven't _kissed_, we haven't _touched_… We've spoken more today than we have in an entire week. Nobody believes us anymore."

He glanced down at me imperiously. "Perhaps I don't _want_ to kiss you." He suggested. "Or touch you. Perhaps even talking to you annoys me."

I folded my arms angrily. "So why don't you leave?" I suggested. "Leave now and save yourself the _irritation_."

In a rare show of emotion, Blaise's eyebrows zoomed down to meet in an angry 'v' in the middle of his forehead. "I think that you ought to remember your place, Dahlquist." He said coldly. "I think you ought to remember just _why_ we're in this _impossible_ situation!"

Smiling sweetly, I leaned into him. "My place is by your side, my love." I declared, before my eyes turned dark with rage and my voice turned into a snarl. "And we're in this 'impossible situation' because _you_ won't man up and play your part!" I pushed sharply against his chest. Probably, that statement wasn't entirely accurate, but Blaise always infuriated me beyond the bounds of logic. "And now everybody thinks we're both crazy."

Now Blaise was angry, too. "_Both_ crazy?" He demanded icily. "You are the only crazy one here. With the _hair_, and the _clothes_ and the ridiculous attitude problems!" He scoffed, leaning back against the desk. "You're like some sort of a tantrum-prone toddler who's been allowed to dress herself!" He snapped disdainfully.

I didn't want to admit how true that sounded. "You know what this is, Blaise?" I demanded. "You know what that little outburst was all about?" It occurred to me so suddenly that I almost laughed at the simplicity of it. "You're _jealous_." He raised an eyebrow in complete scorn, but I continued undaunted. "You are – you're jealous. Not because _I'm_ acting any differently to how I've always acted, but because I _look_ different, so everybody else is behaving differently." I grinned. "You think I haven't seen your face when you catch Pucey sitting close to me? Or that I haven't seen you tear strips out of Faustin whenever he checks me out? I've _seen_ you Blaise!" My smile was triumphant. "Before, not many people really noticed me, and you had me mostly to yourself. But now? Now I stand out, and it's driving you _mad_."

"You're a child." Blaise snapped at me. "As though I _care_! As though it doesn't make _me_ look better to be seen with somebody that other people want!"

I nodded. "That is exactly what you'd think, _if_ you were thinking logically. But you're not, are you, Blaise?" He rolled his eyes, and I pressed on. "Why else are you the _only_ person who hasn't complimented me? Who hasn't said they _like_ this look?" I gestured at my hair, at the lime green satin stripe I'd sown onto the bottom of my too-short robes. Truthfully, I'd stumbled onto that epiphany, but it was true. All the Slytherins has at the very least begrudgingly admitted that they liked my new hair, my new clothes… but not Blaise.

"Merlin, but you are vain, aren't you?" Blaise hissed at me. "Perhaps, _Estelle_, I don't _like_ this look. Perhaps I haven't inflated your already oversized ego because I look on this entire little protest of yours as pathetic!"

My eyebrows soared into my hairline. "Pathetic?" I repeated sceptically, and he nodded.

"Yes, Estelle. Pathetic. To be perfectly frank, I _don't_ find the idea of a girl who hates herself _so_ much that she tries to become somebody else particularly appealing. Truthfully, I find it _sad_."

"You don't know what you're talking about." I half whispered, my hands shaking with rage. "This _is_ who I am now, Blaise! This isn't some act, it's _me_!"

His eyes dragged over my face with merciless scrutiny. "No." He said finally. "No, it isn't. It's your attempt to identify with your father. And it's _failing_. All you're doing is making a fool of yourself." He was so very adept at being cruel, and I wanted to hate him for it, but on some level I knew he was speaking the truth. I knew that he was the _only_ one I couldn't fool. He always had been. "You are so lost within yourself that you're becoming someone different. Somebody worse."

"What would you know?" I demanded harshly, and he laughed.

"Me? Plenty, Estelle." His smile was wolfish as he watched the rage surfacing on my face. "Oh, I see. This is the part of our lovely conversations where I get too close to the truth so you _run_ like the little coward you are." He caught my arm as I spun angrily, attempting to stride out of the room and back into _polite_ society, where people didn't insist on giving you a Freudian analysis of your mental state on a whim.

"I'm not running from the _truth_." I snapped, resisting the urge to knee him in the groin (how undignified!). "I'm running from _you_, you big oaf! Unhand me!"

"I will _not_." Blaise grinned mockingly. "I'm _allowed_ to manhandle you… I'm your…" He stopped, clearly unsure as to exactly _what_ he was. After a moment's thought, he looked back at me appraisingly. "Is there even a word for what we are to each other?"

I rolled my eyes, unsuccessfully attempting to free my arm from his grip. "Oh shut _up_, Blaise." I said, my voice just a little too close to shouting to be nonchalant. "I am _not_ in the mood for this!"

"_You_ aren't in the mood?" Blaise hissed. "You? I spend my every waking minute fending off questions about our 'relationship' and our 'future'." His mouth turned sharply downwards in disgust. "All because _you_ wanted to annoy Boy Wonder at the train station. Didn't I tell you last year? Didn't I make it _quite_ clear that I don't want to be used in your petty little games?"

I floundered. I didn't want this confrontation! I'd only been prepared for _minimal _confrontation of my own choosing, and here I was, screaming about clothes, and my 'daddy issues' and the kiss at the platform. "You're delusional." I snapped at him. "That isn't what happened."

It was a stupid thing to say, and Blaise treated it with the disdain it deserved. "Oh, so you just realised that you couldn't control your lust for me and _attacked_?" He scoffed. "As though you don't think _everything_ through four times over before acting, you devious little slut."

I was. I _was_ a devious little slut. "I'm not a devious little slut!" I snapped, like the Slytherin I was – deny _everything_ that they can't prove. "You pretentious man-whore!"

And then, as always, we were up against a wall snogging like our lives depended on it. It wasn't particularly comfortable – he'd half lifted me off of the ground and the rough brick of the wall was scratching my back horribly, but at that point in time I really didn't mind particularly.

At that moment, the door creaked open, and a cheerful voice announced, "… and we can study in here! Macgonnagal said…" The little boy peeking his head through the door broke off mid-sentence as he caught sight of Blaise and I pressed up against the wall. For the first time in a long time, Blaise and I were united, as we screamed together. "Out!" The little boy squeaked before pulling his head back in, and we could hear the sounds of his frightened little footsteps as he ran back to his friends.

Blaise and I exchanged a look. "_So_ embarrassing." I said, my face utterly emotionless.

"There was a time when we'd never be so sloppy as to allow that to happen." Blaise agreed. "I don't even mind that he saw – what's _sad_ is that neither of us remembered to lock the door."

There was a long moment of silence before, almost instinctively, I pulled out a fag. Together, we walked over the window, leaning out and taking alternate drags of the cigarette while we watched the students milling around the grounds. In that moment, we seemed to make an unspoken promise to _never_ bring up the kiss on the platform ever again. We were in this situation now, and we'd have to make the best of it. But, although I could usually trust Blaise with most things, as I watched his impassive face, I felt a wave of discomfort. Because his eyes, usually so inscrutable, were glinting with _consideration_, as though he were reflecting on the situation and _scheming_. That put me on my guard. Pensively, I turned back to the window, accepting the cigarette as he passed it to me. I felt that the silence – usually so comfortable between us – had gone on for too long. While we weren't talking, Blaise was planning _something_, and that made me nervous. Too much rested on Blaise for him to be scheming behind my back. I needed him on _my_ side. "So, is this _normal_ for us?" I asked liltingly. He didn't reply, but I could tell that he was listening. "Is this how we're going to be?"

Until I heard his soft chuckle, I wasn't sure what he thought of my question. "Oh, Estelle." He said, sounding amused. "This is how we've _always _been."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x

A/N: This is a truly mammoth author's note. Second chapter in about a week – I really am trying to make it up to you all! Hope everything is to your liking… you may notice more of Harry in this (that's for you, too). However, there was originally lots more of Harry. But when the chapter was 30 pages long and still not finished, I realized I would have to divide this chapter into two. Sorry!

On that note: **Velika Silvertongue**, I totally included some Ginny and some Hagrid (combined into one eventful Care of Magical Creatures class) but that'll have to be in the next one, too. Just so you know I'm not lying…

_"What I think." Weaslette said after a moment's pause. "Is that you should stay away from Harry."_

_I paused half-way through filling our bucket with apples, and raised an eyebrow. Her open hostility caught me off guard. "Excuse me?"_

_"You heard me." She said coolly, tilting her chin back defiantly. "I said you should stay away from Harry."_

And on THAT note: huge thanks to **kristianella**, **fakeituntilyoumakeit**, **papindlovu**, **Agent of Fire**, the mysterious **guest**, **quaquaquaqua**, **Velika Silvertongue** and **tmoon97**. Your input keeps me going.

Hopefully you aren't too annoyed with Estelle's behavior. The truth is that she is an emotional wreck, so she'll be acting a little off until she works out her life a bit. I know how annoying it is to have an unlikeable protagonist, so hopefully you already like Estelle enough to excuse her awful behavior.

Keep reviewing, people! Also, take a squiz at the General Notice! xx

GENERAL NOTICE: PLEASE READ.

Alright, so people are a little upset about the slow updates and the lack of Harry/Estelle action. First of all, I understand completely. This has been horrendously slow, and I wish it could be otherwise but the truth is that I'm studying full time (double degree) and working, so I write when I can, but I don't always have the time. I am sorry for that and take full responsibility. I am trying to speed things up.

Second thing is obviously going to be the Harry/Estelle issue. I think I need to make a couple of things clear.

(1) As I've said from the beginning, I want to keep this as canon as possible

(2) I want their relationship to seem _natural_.

Inserting a relationship with a new character into the Harry Potter storyline is very difficult. I don't like changing things too much. Sometimes if I change things, I'll give you a reason (ie: Estelle is at the battle for the Ministry, but asks to have her role in it omitted from the records, explaining why it isn't in the books), but as much as I can, I _don't_ change things.

Also, if there hasn't been any Harry/Estelle action for a while, think back and ask yourselves _why_. I know it's annoying, especially because I've been updating so slowly, but just consider the story.

For the first time in her life Estelle opened her heart and trusted somebody, only to find out that they'd betrayed her, and that their friendship began out of a sense of duty. She would be _furious_. So as much as I'd love to have her jumping into his arms, the truth is that she just won't. She's too proud and too hurt for that. It will happen, believe me, but it just wouldn't be natural for it to happen quickly.

Stick with it, guys. If it makes you feel any better, the next chapter throws a real spanner into the Blaise/Estelle works, and she reconciles (a little) with Harry.


	3. Chapter 3

"Again, Miss Dahlquist?"

It was just a little over two months into the term, and I was standing (not for the first time) before Slughorn's desk, awaiting punishment. Slughorn was almost entirely used to my presence now. Although I skived most of my Potions classes (as it turned out, my lack of Potions talent was not entirely Snape's fault – the subject was just as horrendous without him around) I was sent to Slughorn on average twice a week, and we'd gotten to know each other quite well. Every time he entered his office, I would be waiting there, hands clasped neatly behind my back, a polite smile on my face, probably belied by the evil glint in my eyes. "Again, Professor." I answered jovially.

He sighed, waddling tiredly into the office and sitting himself down on a comfortable-looking plush sofa. "What for this time?" He asked, his voice accompanied by a low rumble from his belly.

I smiled, self-satisfied. "Oh, you know…. The usual."

'The Usual' meant bothering Snape.

The animosity between the two of us was soaring ever higher as the year continued. At first, he'd relished in giving me ridiculous punishments whenever I acted out. I'd sorted through the flobberworms countless times, polished every single trophy in the trophy case. I'd chased Peeves out of the Prefects' bathroom, cleaned all the windows in the West Tower, helped Hagrid in the forest. I'd scrubbed the boys' toilets clean of all graffiti (sans magic). I'd even been a dummy for him to demonstrate jinxes on for the first years, although Dumbledore _had_ put a stop to that fairly quickly. It was all quite predictable and quite tedious.

But now, Snape hated me so much that he could barely stand the sight of me. Even giving me detention didn't seem to give him the thrill it once had. He had, therefore, relegated my punishment to Slughorn. It was unofficial, of course, but everybody knew about it to the point where even other teachers were sending me straight to Slughorn rather than to Snape whenever I acted out.

"What did you say this time, m'girl?" Slughorn asked now, looking very tired. When I'd first started appearing, he'd been pleased to see me. He would make quips about me being a trouble-maker like my parents, and then chortle and tell me to go on my way. But after a while, his 'I understand, just don't do it again' routine seemed to grate a little. A hundred times later, and his smile had faded into a constant expression of defeat.

Truthfully, I didn't remember exactly what I'd said to Snape. "Probably something about his lack of hygiene." I guessed. "Or, you know it might have been something to do with his parents," I waited for the punishment (usually, writing lines – yawn!) but for a long moment he said nothing at all. And when he finally deigned to speak, it wasn't to tell me off.

"You know, Miss Dahlquist, I was head of Slytherin House when your parents attended Hogwarts." I rolled my eyes. Clearly oblivious, Slughorn waddled closer, still speaking. "Your mother was in my house- Sirius wasn't, he was far too upfront to ever be a Slytherin. Wore his heart on his sleeve, no matter how much he liked to pretend he was devious and cunning." He nodded slowly, his multiple chins quivering. "Yes. Brave man, lots of potential, but when it came down to it, he was very straightforward about everything."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're saying that my mother was a confusing coward?"

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Oh _no,_ Miss Dahlquist- Not in the slightest. There are different ways of being brave, your father just happened to be very… well, _Gryffindor_ in his style. Your mother was just as loyal, just as brave. She was just cleverer about it, more guarded."

"Is this my punishment?" I asked, confused. "To listen to you wax lyrical about my parents and the past? Because, while it's certainly more creative than your previous methods, I'm not sure how effective it will actually be."

He ignored that, leaning forwards and splaying his fingers wide on the desk. "I think you're making a mistake," He said, cutting me off. "By going after Professor Snape." I folded my arms, instantly on the defensive. "You think you're being like your parents, don't you?" He asked, still smiling kindly, "when you're cruel like that." I said nothing, and he shook his head, looking for all the world like a bemused grandfather. "Your parents were both able to be quite cruel." He told me with a sage nod. "But just because too have that ability, doesn't make you like them. You see, Aureile and Sirius- they were both thoughtlessly cruel, usually. They lashed out when they were angry, and oh, were they often angry. Their words were like little needles. But _you_." He smiled at me again. "You're being cruel on purpose- you're being cruel because you're scared, and you want to push people away. Your parents weren't like that- neither of them." His little speech unnerved me more than I cared to admit, but he seemed aware of that. Certainly he gave a smug little nod (no doubt mentally giving himself a pat on the back for bonding with me). "This constant misbehaving… well. It's quite amusing, I'm sure, but it isn't going to do any wonders for your reputation."

I glanced up at the picture of my father and Slughorn resting on the mantelpiece. I was almost certain that it wasn't normally there, that he took it out whenever I came into the office in an effort to make me like him. As I watched, my uncomfortable looking father gave me a stoic grimace from the photo frame, and shrugged as though to say 'what can you do?' as a much-younger Slughorn chortled happily beside him. "I'm not too concerned about my reputation just now, Professor." I said honestly.

Slughorn, following the direction of my gaze, sighed. "Well now, I doubt _that's_ true. You're a Slytherin, my girl! We always think ahead, and I don't doubt that you're particularly clever. Why, you're probably feeling quite uncomfortable yourself with all of this rebellion… it's thoroughly un-Slytherin of you!" I didn't answer, but he didn't give up. "Why don't you…" He sighed tiredly. "Why don't you just be _good_? That's what a clever girl would do – be good and earn _everybody's_ trust so that she has as many allies as possible. You know, Gwenog once told me." He paused, shooting me a look. "That's Gwenog _Jones_ of the Hollyhead Harpies, you know – an old favourite of mine."

"I had heard." I drawled sarcastically.

"Yes, well she – lovely girl, mind you – told me that the key is _networking_, you see? I said, 'Gwenog, m'dear, how _did_ you become so successful?' She was always a talented girl, but the way she rocketed into fame…" He shook his head in admiration. "Yes, remarkable! And yet she always had time to write me such nice letters…"

I tuned out, looking back to the picture of my father and Slughorn. He was so… _cool_. It was so very obvious that he thought Slughorn was an utter fool, and he didn't care who knew it.

"… and what she _never_ failed to mention was that she wouldn't have been half so successful if she hadn't made such an effort to endear herself to the Quidditch Executives."

There was a pause, and I realised he was waiting for my answer. "Well." I said eventually. "I shall keep that in mind the next time I want to try my hand at professional Quidditch."

Slughorn gave a vague 'hurrumph' of disapproval at my flippancy, but in a moment, his broad smile had returned. I realised that he had probably had enough for today, and drumming my fingers on the desk, I shot him a smile. "Perhaps I should go, Professor?" I suggested, and he sighed.

"Yes, yes." He agreed as his stomach gave a conspicuous rumble. "Yes, I suppose so…"

He had (as often happened) forgotten to punish me. I cast a look back at the photo of my father, only to see him grimace at the photographic Slughorn and roll his eyes. The sight made me grin, and I flounced over to the door feeling supremely proud of myself. Sirius Black would be _so_ impressed with my behaviour – I was sure of it.

I was almost at the door, before Slughorn called out. "Oh, and Miss Dahlquist." I paused, lips curved into a smile as I waited for the inevitable line which ended all of our conversations. "I understand – really I do. Just…"

"Don't do it again!" I sang with him. He frowned at my little mockery, but then (as with everything) pushed it aside.

"Yes. Quite. Quite right." He grumbled, and then I slipped outside.

….

By the time I finally got out of Slughorn's office, it was very late and the sun had already disappeared. The light streaming in from the windows had turned to a murky blue colour, and I supposed that everybody would be heading to the Great Hall for dinner.

Jess and Carmeline would be gossiping about whichever boy they'd most recently decided they liked, and all the Slytherins would be wilfully refusing to discuss whoever had most recently fallen victim to the Death Eaters. Draco would be conspicuously absent (as would his cronies) and Blaise would sit beside me at dinner but barely touch me and probably not speak at all. Lately, he only seemed capable of talking to me when we were alone. I suppose, in a way, it had always been that way between us. But lately it had gotten much much worse.

I truly wasn't in the mood. As I left Slughorn's offices, I decided that, rather than sit through yet another boring feast, I'd head back to the Slytherin dorms. I took the scenic route back, fully intending to scab food from the kitchen somehow. It was nice, walking the corridors, utterly alone. Everybody had already gone to dinner, and I had the castle all to myself. My footsteps echoed just a little in the empty halls – a pleasant 'tap tap' to keep me company. It was so _lovely_ not to have to _be_ anything or_ do_ anything. There was no need for me to appear happy, disdainful, unaffected, anything! I could just relax, and the feeling was liberating.

But that feeling could never last for too long. My route took me past the Main Entrance, and as I crossed the hall, the huge doors creaked open, and I could hear laughter echoing around the hall as a couple of figures stepped inside.

"Oh, Ginny!" A familiar voice chuckled. "I thought I'd _never_ stop laughing!"

By his side, a female figure with long red hair gave a low laugh, tossing her head. "Well, if he could just hold the bat from the right side, if you know what I mean?" The male figure laughed again, and I couldn't help but smile at the sound. I couldn't quite place it yet, but it seemed so pleasant and open that I felt a laugh bubbling up inside of me. But then the female spoke again. "Oh, come on, Harry! It wasn't _that_ funny." She said, but after a moment, she was laughing, too, and they clutched onto each other's arms like the old friends they were.

I didn't feel like laughing any more. Harry, she'd said. Of course. No wonder I recognised his voice. The two of them were slightly muddy and wearing their Quidditch robes – I supposed they'd just come in from training. I should have felt angry then, but instead a wave of longing swept over me, and before I could clamp down on the thought, my mind threw up this little gem: I wanted it to be _me_ who made him laugh! I wanted it to be _my_ arm he leaned on.

As quickly as I could, I buried that notion. It served no purpose. It was impossible, and what's more, insane. It would never have even occurred to me were it not for the strangeness of this situation. When I was surrounded by my peers and my friends, it was so very clear that I _had_ to hate Harry. But it seemed that away from them, there was little to stop such traitorous thoughts. And yet… what better time to approach him, I reasoned with myself, than right now, when we were almost entirely alone and there was nobody there to judge? What better time? I could always shun him tomorrow, but who was to stop me indulging in _one_ guilty pleasure, and talking to the boy whom I'd missed despite myself. And with that thought, I took a step closer to the two of them.

Harry was still laughing – his eyes were watering, and in an effort to rub them clear, he'd pushed his glasses askew. But the redheaded girl – Weaslette – was not, and she saw me straight away, standing awkwardly in the centre of the hall.

It was an oddly tense moment, during which we simply stared at each other, neither of us saying a word. I wondered whether she'd tell Harry, or if he'd notice me on his own account. As it happened, neither of those scenarios occurred. Instead, in a move which a Slytherin would have been proud of, Weaslette beamed at Harry, taking his arm a little more firmly. "You know what? Let's go to the hall _this_ way." She tugged him towards the corridor furthest from me.

"That way's twice as long, Gin." I heard Harry protest. "I'm hungry! Let's just go through the main doors."

There was the briefest of pauses before she replied, in a voice as sweet as sugar. "Well, maybe I'm just not ready to share you yet." My eyebrows soared at her blatant manipulation. "Can't I keep you to myself for just a little while longer?" Harry relented. Of _course_ he relented, and that would have been the end of it, had Weaslette not looked up as she pushed him out of the door.

She met my eyes in that brief second before they left the Hall. Had I thought about it earlier, I suppose I would have expected her gaze to look vindictive or triumphant, but it wasn't like that at all. Instead, Weaslette's eyes were full of mistrust, and a warning. She wasn't keeping him away from me out of spite. No, she was keeping him away from me to _protect_ him.

Beneath my hurt and confusion, I couldn't suppress the slightest bit of satisfaction at the knowledge that _I_ was a danger to the boy who'd killed 'You Know Who'.

Or, you know… _mostly_ killed him. Temporarily.

…..

As it happened, the empty castle didn't hold much joy for me after that little exchange, and I felt an urge which was both rare and inexplicable – to be with other people.

So, it was no surprise that I found myself absentmindedly heading for the Astronomy Tower. Over the past few months, and indeed even last year, the Astronomy Tower had become my place with Blaise. I don't know how or why it happened, but it seemed that every time I would go up there, he would be waiting for me, cigarette in hand, ready to talk.

A lot of the time, we talked about Draco. Sometimes about me. _Never_ about him.

And yet, that was when I felt the most comfortable – standing there with him, sharing a fag. We never lied to each other there, it was so natural and perfect, as though being away from the others turned us into different people, more _relaxed_ people. Not _too_ different – we were still utterly caustic and thoughtlessly cruel, but we were free to be utterly ourselves, without a thought for what anybody else thought.

It wasn't really a surprise, then, that when I climbed the final step to the top of the tower, Blaise was already waiting for me, newly lit cigarette in hand, gazing out of the window and looking like some kind of Abercrombie and Fitch model. I watched him for a second, admiring the way he looked in the moonlight much in the same way one might admire a painting, and then I smiled. "How do you always get up here so fast?" He didn't answer and I continued. "You must run the second you see me headed this way. Either that or you're _always_ up here – how else do you explain this phenomenon?"

He took a drag before answering. "You're hallucinating and I'm not here at all."

"That doesn't seem plausible." I said after a moment's consideration. "My hallucinations would be more interesting."

Blaise sighed. "You're doing that thing again." He drawled. "That thing where you act like you actually have a brain."

I frowned. "You're awfully lippy for a figment of my imagination." I told him. "Prick."

I leaned casually against the wall opposite Blaise, watching as he took a long drag of his cigarette. Eventually, he passed it to me, and I took my turn, drawing comfort from this routine of ours. I couldn't even remember when it had begun, but it never failed to calm me. Finally, he spoke. "I take it you had a rough day." He said, sounding quite bored. I nodded, and he sighed, taking another drag before passing it my way again. "You have been rather prone to embarrassing yourself lately. Nobody is quite sure how to respond to your bizarre need to pick pointless fights with the professors. It's so…" He searched in vain for a suitable adjective, tendrils of smoke spiralling upwards from the cigarette clutched in his fingers. "… un-cunning."

It was so very like him to have pinpointed _exactly_ what was bothering me. Well, I reflected reluctantly, _most_ of what was bothering me, in any case. "That isn't a word." I pointed out with an indignant sniff as I reached for the cigarette. He held it slightly out of my reach. "If you're going to criticize me, do it _properly_."

"Un-Slytherin."

I sighed. "Still not a word, Blaise." I said nonchalantly. "Still not a word."

There was a long pause. And then… "Gryffindor-esque."

"Blaise, that _still_ isn't a…" I realised what he'd said, and turned to face him in shock. "What?"

He smiled evilly, passing me the fag. "Gryffindor-esque. You're acting like a _Gryffindor_, Estelle, and truly it doesn't suit you." I stayed perfectly still, shocked into silence. Clearly quite pleased with himself, Blaise continued. "That's why everybody has been so… careful with you lately. They seem to think you're on the verge of a breakdown, what with the looks and the outbursts."

Ruefully, I remembered Pansy's cutting remarks of the day before, and the way Daphne and Tracy seemed to laugh mockingly whenever I walked past. "I don't think they've been _that_ careful with me, Blaise. The girls seem to think I'm some sort of joke, lately."

He shifted, almost uncomfortably, and I somehow _knew_ that there was more to that situation than he was letting on. But he wasn't planning on elaborating. "Beside the point." He said dismissively. "What you have to understand is that the way you're acting _might_ have been quite cool on somebody else, but it isn't a good fit for you." He looked away from me then, and I braced myself. Blaise never seemed able to meet my eyes when he was about to say something important. "I imagine that at one time, a pureblooded Gryffindor, whose life was one massive rebellion against his family and his peers, might have acted rather the way you are now. But in attempting to emulate this 'hypothetical' Gryffindor, you are only doing yourself and him a disservice."

I took the fag back, taking a long drag. "This is us, Blaise." I said quite curtly. "Screw these 'hypotheticals' and speak plainly."

He frowned. "Fine. Excuse me for trying to be _sensitive_." He snatched the fag back from me. "Stop trying to be Sirius Black. You aren't and you never were and you never will be."

"I am _like_ him." I snapped at Blaise. I'd known the conversation was heading this way, but my anger at his words surprised even me. "He's my father and I take after him – I'm _just_ like him."

"Don't be stupid." Blaise said, as always impatient with any sort of bullshit. "You are not. If you were it would have surfaced before now." I thought that this was wildly unfair, but found myself unable to say anything against it. Blaise watched me for a moment before continuing. "I _know_ about Sirius Black, Estelle." He said calmly. "Draco says Narcissa never mentioned him, and with you living with them I can see why, but for the rest of us purebloods, Sirius Black was a cautionary tale we were told whenever we misbehaved. He spent his entire childhood attempting to establish himself as _separate_ from his family. That's why he acted up. What are you trying to prove, with your tantrums and your fights?" He didn't give me a chance to answer. "Nothing. So this rebellion of yours is hollow. And that's stupid whether you consider it from the perspective of a Slytherin _or_ a Gryffindor."

And at that moment, I felt myself opening up, just a little. "I don't want to be like my mother, Blaise." I said quietly. "Not anymore. Not after what I now know she did. I want to be like _him_."

Blaise didn't ask what I meant by 'what she did', and he didn't say anything to make me feel stupid. It must have been incredibly difficult for him to resist, but he did and I was grateful for it. In the silence that followed, he sighed and almost tentatively draped an arm around my shoulders. It was the first time he'd touched me properly without trying to cop a feel, and the weight of his arm felt foreign and unnatural to me. "I don't know what your mother was like." He said finally, his voice as dry and sardonic as ever. "And I didn't know your father. To me, all you've ever been is 'Estelle', and that's quite enough to be getting on without adding all the worst qualities of your parents to the mix. Perhaps it's time that you stopped trying to be like either of them."

I didn't want to listen. Not because what he said didn't make sense, but because it was _Blaise_ saying it. Cold, unfeeling Blaise who didn't care about anything. Blaise whose idea of 'talking out issues' was him insulting me until I saw sense. This quasi-gentle Blaise, with his arm around my shoulders in something akin to a _hug_ wasn't one I was familiar or comfortable with. I felt oddly exposed. "You don't need to _pretend_ that you care, Blaise." I said absently, taking another drag of my cigarette. "Nobody's around to see."

There was the briefest of pauses, then Blaise's hand slipped from my shoulders, and he said, quite softly, quite smoothly. "Of _course_ not. I suppose it's becoming _habit_."

I wondered for a second if I'd somehow offended him. But no, more likely he was relieved that I'd put that odd, _intimate_ situation to an end and put us back into our normal, cool state. At that point, for the first time in months I felt a stab of guilt, quick and hard like a knife in my gut. Guilt for what I'd dragged Blaise into without so much as a 'do you mind?' We'd been working so very well of late that I'd forgotten how it had all started, but in that instant, it came back in a flash. There was a short silence, and then I ventured to say, "I haven't confused things, have I?" I asked. "Since that day on the platform, I mean. I haven't messed up our dynamic?"

"You mean by making this more concrete?" Blaise asked slowly, voice dripping with sarcasm. I nodded, but he asked again. "By making us less like acquaintances and more like… friends? Lovers?" I nodded once again, and he scoffed. In an instant, he was back to his scornful self, but rather than being upset, I found myself relieved to be back on common ground. "Don't worry, Estelle." He told me disdainfully. "Our dynamic was messed up to begin with."

…..

We had Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors, which was (naturally) a recipe for disaster.

"I _hate_ this." Jess grumbled to me. "They ought to know not to pair us with _them_." She shot a glare at the clump of Gryffindor girls over by Hagrid's hut. "It never works.

Carmeline nodded in agreement, rolling up her sleeves. "I remember when I was in second year, Harry Potter tried to feed Draco to a hippogriff." I gave her a sceptical look, but she nodded sagely, clearly misinterpreting it completely. "Yup. _That's_ what happens when you put us all together – we try and _kill_ each other."

"Well don't worry too much." I told her sweetly. "They can hardly feed us to the unicorns." We'd been looking forwards to this class all year. Our assignment was to attract and sketch a unicorn – something I was particularly thrilled to be assessed on considering my natural drawing ability. Of course, we'd have to _find_ one first, using only our knowledge of the species and a bucket of food of our choice. It was a team assignment, and, being Slytherins, Carmeline, Jess and I had had it worked out for months. We were going to fill our buckets with the tastiest food on offer, then have a picnic in the forest. I'd already copied out a fairly detailed sketch of a unicorn from one of the textbooks, and together we'd labelled it (including a few intentional mistakes for authenticity's sake).

"They can try." Carmeline insisted. "Merlin, I hate this class! I hate being outside, and being taught by a man who goes by his _first name only_. I mean, do his kind not _have_ last names?" Jess sniggered and Carmeline continued. "This entire class is like one of those New-Age Wizard communes!"

Jess shook her head. "On those communes, the teachers know _everybody's_ names." She pointed out. "Professor Hagrid only bothers to learn the Gryffindors'." Sadly, that was pretty true. On that note, the class began.

"Alright, everyone!" Hagrid boomed out happily over the groups of enthusiastic students. "S'good that you're all excited fer today! We jus' need to put you in groups, and then you can be on yer way."

"Sorry," Jess called out caustically – she couldn't _stand_ Hagrid – "we're already _in_ groups, Professor." She gestured languidly at Carmeline and me.

Hagrid frowned. "I'll be puttin' you in _different_ groups today, Miss – ah…"

"Osyth." Jess drawled, and he nodded.

"Right. I reckon' it'd be interesting to see how you work _away_ from yer friends. So fer today, you'll be in mixed-house pairings." There was a collective groan from the students, which Hagrid wisely ignored. "Startin' with _you_, Miss – ah – Osyth. You can pair with Eleanor." He pointed to a girl none of us had even noticed before, who smiled bravely at Jess.

Jess gave a tortured sigh. "Fine." She glanced back and Carmeline and I. "I'll see you girls later." Carmeline have her a sympathetic smile as she walked away.

"Alright. You, Miss – ah – Burke! You and Leslie over here."

Carmeline's eyes lit up. "Right! Leslie's as much of a slacker as we are! Slip me the drawing, Estelle – you know she's the only Gryffindor who'd agree to bludge this class." It was true. Reluctantly, I passed her the piece of parchment, and she gleefully headed over to Lazy Leslie. With a sigh, I turned my gaze back to Hagrid, who was watching me with a broad smile on his face.

Since my lineage had become common knowledge, most of the professors had been careful not to treat me any differently. Even Macgonnagal, who had apparently adored my father in her own way, was just as stern as ever. I think Professor Sprout was even harder on me than before. Snape, of course, loathed me. But then, I gave him good reason to. It was Hagrid that was the problem. My father's manuscript barely mentioned him, so I had no idea how they'd know each other, but every time he looked at me, his beetle-like eyes would well up with tears and he'd be humiliatingly familiar. You'd think (despite the past two years of him not ever truly remembering my name) that there'd be some distance between us. But no, apparently we were the very best of friends.

"Estelle." He huffed now. "I reckon' you'd work well with Ginny. How 'bout that?" Both Weaslette and I looked thoroughly horrified by this suggestion, but Hagrid beamed as though we'd both jumped for joy. "Yeah, that's a good pair, that is. Yer parents would be happy to see you gettin' along." Frankly, I thought he was exaggerating just a touch, considering that we both looked like we were about to be sick. But he seemed happy. Grinning at us both, he clapped me on the back and moved on to the next pair. "Let's see now… Ellis, how about you pair off with Mr Cleevebridge fer today?"

Left alone, Weaslette and I eyed each other warily. I hadn't seen her since the night before, when she'd led Harry away from me. In that moment, I realised how little I knew about her. She was pretty, I knew that. And quite popular – one of those rare girls who manages to be well liked by girls _and_ boys. She was brave – she was, after all, a Gryffindor. And loyal. I remembered her clutching her ankle at the Ministry, too. She was a fighter. It was odd that we were linked together through Harry. In a way, I felt as though she was my opposite. She broke the silence first. "it's _Estelle_, isn't it?"

"It's Dahlquist." I corrected her coolly, dispelling all thoughts of a connection between us. She said nothing more, so I turned my attention to our assignment. "So." I sighed. "Attracting a unicorn… That can't be too hard. I think mostly you just have to be female, and we both handle that quite adequately." I generously refrained from suggesting that she didn't quite fit that criterion, and felt quite proud of myself. "I suppose we can just head to the Forest and… wander about for a bit, being girls." I finished vaguely. I wasn't particularly good at Care of Magical Creatures. "What do you think?"

"What _I_ think." Weaslette said after a moment's pause. "Is that you should stay away from Harry."

I paused half-way through filling our bucket with apples, and raised an eyebrow. Her open hostility caught me off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She said coolly, tilting her chin back defiantly. "I _said_ you should stay away from Harry."

On one level, I admired her just then. Never in a hundred years would I even _dream_ of just approaching somebody I didn't like and speaking my mind. It was so utterly simply, so guileless and upfront. It struck me as completely stupid. My mouth curved up into a patronising smile. "Imagining for a second that I care what you think," I said slowly, "are you going to tell me _why_ you've reached that conclusion?"

She seemed annoyed by my tone and turned to face me, hands on hips. "Look, Dahlquist, after the Ministry I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Harry didn't say much but I gather you turned up to help him, and that's just _swell_." It could not have been clearer that she felt that my actions had been as far as possible from 'swell'. "But since then? Well." She shook her head slowly. "You've just proved that you're a Malfoy through and through. Harry's already lost Sirius – I don't want you messing with his head."

"I'm _not_." I said tetchily, itching to get out of there.

"How's it goin', you two?" Hagrid had appeared out of nowhere, beaming happily at us. "All prepared fer the assignment?"

"I think we ought to switch partners." I said quickly. With any other teacher I would have exercised a little more subtlety, but I really wasn't certain Hagrid would have picked up on that. "If I stay with her, I'll probably end up feeding her to a Hippogriff."

Hagrid blinked, confused and perturbed by my request. "Is there some sort o' problem…?"

"It's fine, Hagrid." Weaslette said, and I noted wryly that when she was talking to people who _weren't _me, she seemed perfectly pleasant. "Don't worry, I'm absolutely fine!"

I scoffed. "Good for you, Gryffindor, but Professor, _I'm_ not fine. _She's_ only fine because she isn't the one being attacked!"

Hagrid looked completely at a loss now. "Attacked?" He asked. "Ginny, I hope you're bein' civil." It was obvious that he didn't really think she was at fault, so when she smiled and assured him yet again that all was well, he sighed in agreement. "Well, the others have already left, Estelle." He said, and I winced at his use of my name. "You and Ginny will just 'ave to work it out." And with an encouraging smile, he moved off.

I watched him go with a keen sense of irony. Carmeline had been wrong – in care of magical creatures, Slytherins weren't fed to the hippogriffs; they were fed to the Gryffindors. The second he was gone, Weaslette returned to her previous line of attack. "I never trusted you." She told me bluntly. "I know Sirius was your father, but he is the exception that proves the rule – blood always tells, and your blood is about as fanatical as can be. You were always going to turn out like the rest of your family, and that is _bad_ news for Harry – you lot have hurt him enough."

Surprisingly, this I _could_ argue with. "Now, now." I said, almost gleeful with the marvellous opportunity to demonstrate to Weaslette just how stupid she was. "Let's be a _little_ careful, shall we? I mean, this whole 'blood always tells' thing that you're suggesting… wouldn't you say that's a little 'prejudiced'? And I know that you and your friends are _very_ against judging whole groups of people on what sort of blood they have."

She flushed. "I stand by what I said." She intoned, giving me another sense of that Gryffindor courage. "You're just like your God-father. Stay _away_ from Harry!"

Sadly, that Gryffindor courage seemed to go hand-in-hand with a predilection for uncreative argument and predictable ideas. It was time for a little Slytherin cunning.

"I tried, Weasley." I drawled. "I really did, but he just _keeps_ coming back. He doesn't want me to stay away."

That hit a nerve. Weaslette flushed a deep shade of red. "He just feels guilty." She told me snidely. "That's why. He wouldn't give you the time of day if Sirius weren't your father." I don't know whether she picked up on my own doubt on that matter, or whether she just continued on instinct alone, but she grinned and spoke again. "And that won't keep him going forever, you know. No, he'll get bored of it soon enough – tired of waiting around for you."

…

Perhaps that was why. No, really, that was _definitely_ why. Weaslette had been attempting to upset me, and she'd succeeded. The idea that Harry would give up had affected me more than I had expected, and the thought of him no longer being in my life, no longer _caring_ made me strangely uncomfortable. I'd grown used to him – ghosting around my classes, eyes following me in the Great Hall, the softly voice 'Estelle!' I'd sometimes hear from him. The truth was, I missed him, and I _had_ taken him for granted. That night, when I pulled out my father's manuscript, I read the lines with a sense of remorse. I saw the love he'd had for Harry, and I felt sick for having shunned Harry for so long.

Over the next week, for whatever reason, I didn't see him. Quidditch training was in full swing, I kept telling myself, and there was rumour that he was having private lessons with Dumbledore, whatever that meant. I tried not to let his absence affect me, but for some reason it really did. I found myself looking for him as I walked down the corridors with Blaise or Carmeline, waiting for him to pop out and show he was still trying. But he never did, and I grew anxious. Despite maintaining that I hated him, a small part of my mind considered how difficult it would be to torture him if he no longer cared. Perhaps (that small, _annoying_ part of my mind suggested) I had never hated him – perhaps I'd been _punishing_ him, something that could not be done if he didn't care what I thought. That realisation forced me to confront something else – if I was punishing him, that surely meant that I intended him to remain in my life, to one day be forgiven.

I did not, it seemed, hate Harry at all. That thought perturbed me, and the night it came to me, none of Blaise's wit or Jess' entertaining bitchiness could draw me out of the state of pensiveness into which I had sunk. Sitting beside Blaise, my mind was miles away, and even Daphne (who plonked herself down opposite us and declared 'oh, Estelle.. bothering Blaise _again_ are you?') couldn't phase me. If I didn't hate Harry, why was I doing this? Because, the rational part of my mind suggested, I was _hurt_. That in turn meant that I cared about him, even after everything.

Harry had hurt me badly, had betrayed me. Perhaps I ought to have stuck to my principles, then, to have waited until I truly forgave him before I attempted to enter his life again. But there were a few problems with that, firstly that _I_ would have to initiate that, which would put _me_ in the weaker position (which I absolutely _refused_ to be in). Secondly, Dahlquists do not _beg_. Thirdly, by that stage Harry might not want me anymore, just like Weaslette had suggested. He might say no, and I didn't think I could handle that rejection.

Weaslette's words, therefore, had the opposite effect to what she'd intended, and the next day, after charms, when I heard that familiar, "Estelle?" instead of walking on, I stopped.

Harry had been leaning up against the wall, but when I waited, he'd scrambled to an upright position, awkwardly attempting to smooth back his hair. It was amazing just how relieved I was to see him. He hadn't given up – he still cared. My fingers twitched a little, and I blinked, but those were the only signs of the emotions coursing through me. He cared. He still cared about _me_. And of course, that meant that I was at an advantage – strategically important to a Slytherin. There was a reasonably long silence. It was fairly clear that Harry really hadn't considered what he would do if I acknowledged him, and was now wracking his brain for a course of action. Eventually, he blurted out, "Could we talk?"

"Shove off, Potter." Jess sneered through my silence. "Estelle, want me to get Blaise for you?"

I barely knew what I was doing or what I wanted. The truth was, _I_ hadn't thought this far ahead either and now I was a little at a loss. The only people who could see us were Jess and Carmeline (the latter of whom was rendered dumb by shock) so I knew I didn't have to worry about scandal – that was something, at least. I looked at Harry then, meeting his gaze for the first time in what seemed like forever. In an instant, all of my doubts and revelations from the night before returned to me with a force that took my breath away.

What I did next was utterly impulsive and stupid, borne of days of analysing Harry's place in my life, and dreading him leaving, giving up on me like everybody else had.

"I- no." I heard Carmeline gasp beside me, but ignored her, tearing my gaze from Harry's and looking back to Jess. "No, Jess, I think I'll be fine." And then, before I could stop myself, I sprang into action. Harry's eyes lit up hopefully as I strode past him, leading us to a quieter part of the corridor. It felt so odd, and yet on some level so perfect, to be walking with him, preparing to _talk_ to him. My heart was beating faster than ever before, and I could feel that my mouth was dry. Seizing on the momentum, and refusing to let myself overthink the situation any more, I whirled around to face him. But facing him was my worst idea yet. His eyes were still all shiny with anticipation and a muted sort of happiness. Damn it, but he had nice eyes. "I think it's about time we spoke." I said coolly, ignoring the rapid thrum of my heartbeat.

At that point, he could have mentioned the hundred times he'd tried in vain to get my attention, but he didn't. Instead, he nodded calmly. "Yeah. I mean…" He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm really glad you didn't ignore me this time." The civility between us was stifling, especially when compared to the anger of our last conversation. I suppose Harry was being extra cautious, worried he'd offend me again. I kept my face blank and waited for him to continue. After a brief hesitation, he nodded once more. "Right. I wanted to, er, let you know that… that Sirius left me Grimmaud Place."

"I don't care." I said quickly. But I did. It hurt on some level to be reminded that my father had left the one little part of himself that he had left to Harry Potter. I'd devoted myself fully to Sirius Black, now. I'd decided I was on _his_ side. And clearly, he didn't care about me quite as much as he cared about Harry.

Clearly aware of this thought process, Harry nodded uncertainly. "Of course not." He said slowly. And then, because he was chronically unable to restrain himself from interfering, he continued. "I think." He said haltingly. "I think that he left it to me because he didn't want you to have any part in his family." He told me. "Sirius ran away from them as soon as he could. I think it made him angry to think that after he spent so long avoiding them, you ended up right back in their clutches." There was a long pause. "He would've hated that the Malfoys have custody…."

Of course. Gryffindors – must they _always_ put their foot in it?

"And that's enough." I said curtly, cutting him off. Harry had the good grace to look a little ashamed, but he kept his gaze steady. He believed what he was trying to tell me, and he desperately wanted me to believe it, too. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Perhaps, I thought sadly, I'd been foolish to assume that this could work, the thought made my heart seize up unexpectedly – no, this was _meant_ to work. It was always meant to work. I took a deep breath before I spoke again. "I wanted to tell you something, too." Harry looked at me again with those hope filled eyes. I wanted to punch him – he was making this harder than it needed to be. "I wanted to tell you that…" It was harder than I'd thought to get the words out. I sucked my cheeks in and bit my lip. Best to get it over with. "That I'm not angry anymore."

Harry looked a little sceptical. "You still _look_ angry." He began innocently.

I cut him off straight away. "I'm still angry at _you_." I snapped, and then forced myself to calm down and tell Harry what I'd been feeling for months. "I meant that I'm not angry with Sirius anymore." I paused. "I don't blame him. Not for any of it."

In that moment I was transported back to a long ago day, outside the Hogwarts Express, when I'd screamed like a banshee about how caring for Sirius Black would be useless. That seemed so very long ago now, and my words so very childish.

I think Harry's mind had wandered back to the same day. With a frown on his face, he considered this. "But you still blame me." He stated, more than asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Potter." I spat. "I don't _have_ to be logical- I'm a teenage girl, and everybody knows that gives me rights." But however cutting my tone was, my words were more jocular than anything, and Harry picked up on it, giving me a broad smile.

"That's true." He said, clearly trying to encourage the camaraderie. "Ginny's always saying that…"

"I don't _care_ about Weaslette." I said impatiently. Truth be told, his eyes had lit up a little as he mentioned her, and despite myself I was annoyed. Being Slytherin, I couldn't resist adding. "Or her five million boyfriends. I don't care about any of that."

Harry frowned. "Who mentioned Ginny's boyfriends?" He asked, clearly confused. Obviously, he didn't understand girls quite as well as he thought he did. "And I think you're being a bit unfair, Estelle, she has hardly had five million boyfriends."

I sniffed. "Oh, _please_. There's a veritable army of them!"

"Well, you can hardly talk." Harry said, obviously trying quite hard to stay civil. You could practically feel his loyalty to his friends warring against his desire to reconcile with me. "Y_our_ 'friend with benefits' is forever with a different girl."

"Not lately." I pointed out, and Harry frowned.

"No." He admitted. "Not lately." Mollified, I smiled. But, alas, too soon. "But I still think you're too good for him."

I rolled my eyes. "You have no idea what he's like. _Or_ what I'm like." I pointed out. "There are very few people I'm _really_ too good for, and Blaise is quite the same." Keeping my eyes on Harry to study his reaction, I added. "We work quite well together."

It was surreal just how quickly we'd sunk back into the way we were before. Things were moving crazily fast, and I knew that if I stopped this conversation for even a second my mind would catch up with my emotions and this would grind to a halt. Because it was _illogical_. Because my brain _wanted_ him to suffer, but what _I_ wanted was just to talk to him. I'd missed him. It reminded me of how you often don't realise how hungry you are until you start eating – I'd known I _cared_ about him and didn't want to lose him, but I hadn't realised how much. He was just so inherently _good_ – being near him made me feel like I was worth something, was better than I truly was. Less flawed, less selfish.

Harry didn't seem aware of any of the nuances of our conversation. He was too distracted by my last comment. "What do you mean?" He asked slowly, and I noted that he looked wary. "You said you two were friends with benefits."

I frowned at him, cocking my head to one side. "You're not finding this discussion uncomfortable?" I asked sweetly, carefully drawing his attention to his evident unhappiness with my words. But he shook his head emphatically. With a delicate shrug I continued. "_Très Bien_. We're getting along very well, actually. Much better than I would ever have guessed. I think we've moved on from being friends with benefits. We seem to… _fit_ well." The logical part of my mind was disgusted with me. Why was I sharing this knowledge with Harry bloody Potter? But the hormone-ridden teenage girl within me was holding the reins, and by _her_ logic it was time to make Harry jealous. He was close to Wealsette? Well, I was close to Blaise. And what's more, everything I was saying to him was 100% true. Blaise and I _were_ working, much better than I'd ever expected. Perhaps it was because I'd never expected much, and neither had he. We knew each other far too well to ever assume we'd be better than we were. And although my words surprised even me, I spoke from the heart when I said, "we may even have a future together – a weird, twisted, possibly bitter future, but a future nonetheless." But Harry didn't seem convinced. He was giving me an incredibly sceptical look, and I frowned. "What now?"

He smiled sheepishly, then his face became much more serious. "It isn't much, only… Look, I don't know a lot about this sort of thing, but _I_ thought the Zabinis were… sort of upper class."

I felt affronted already. "Yes? And?"

"Well… aren't you…?"

Just like that, our 'easy camaraderie' begin to crumble. Poor Harry – he always seemed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and always with the absolute best of intentions. My eyes narrowed. "You're right, Potter." I said coolly. "You _don't_ know much about this." I glanced away, annoyed to be facing the same accusations that I'd been met with at Beauxbatons from such an unexpected source. "I'm a _Dahlquist_. The last true Dahlquist." My eyes flicked up to his. "Do you know what that means?" Harry shook his head and I continued. "It means that I'm from one of the oldest, _most_ important families in France! We're _noblesse chevaleresque_ – dating back before Charlemange! My _Grand-père _was a Marquis! I don't need to prove myself." Harry looked completely lost. I suppose the rapid mix of French and English terms, with a few historical figures thrown in for good measure, had probably confused him just a little. I continued. "After the Revolution, we held on to our title, and saved our ancestral lands with a clever bit of magic which kept them hidden from the muggles. The European wizarding community _fawns_ over my name!"

"Alright!" Harry raised his hands in supplication. "I'm sorry, Estelle. I didn't mean anything by it." I took a deep breath, remembering that I'd decided that I wanted Harry in my life. "Really, I'm sorry." I kept my eyes fixed on him, but after a moment's consideration, nodded. He exhaled loudly, in a nerdy sort of sigh, running a hand through his hair. He stayed quiet, but it was fairly clear to me that he was just itching to ask _why_ I cared about any of that. And I? I did nothing. I felt as though I was watching this exchange from far away, an out-of-body sort of feeling that I was floating above us, detached from the conversation. Everything I had said had come sort of automatically, and the surreal nature of the fact that I was even _talking_ to Harry made me feel completely separate from it all.

"I've missed you." I heard somebody say. It took me a moment (and the surprise in Harry's eyes) to realise that it was me. How horridly _sappy_ of me! Disgusted, I attempted to wrest the situation back under my control. "You know, despite my sincere efforts to the contrary."

"I've missed you, too." Harry replied after a moment. "But I never fought it. I want us to be friends, Estelle." And then he, too, paused. "At the very least, let's be friends."

As we took our leave of each other, his words echoed around my mind. '_At the very least'_… what did that even mean? 'At least'… does that mean he wants more? How much more? And what _is_ more? Bosom friends? Best friends? I paused – _girlfriend_? It wasn't just the words, either. He'd flushed such an awkward shade of red soon after saying it, but he'd kept his gaze steady on mine. In a rush, every almost-kiss, every hurried moment, every half-embrace passed through my mind. This had always been there, lingering just below the surface – even now, it was only implied. Harry's statement could have been interpreted in a hundred different ways. I groaned – he wasn't being _cunning_, that was clear enough. The boy didn't have a cunning bone in his body, bless him. So was he just being… obtuse? It was incredibly frustrating! In Slytherin, you don't need to wonder whether there's a meaning behind a boy's words – you _know_ there is, because he's Slytherin and Slytherins are always implying _something_. But Harry – I had no clue. He'd thrown me off so abruptly with that statement that I'd only regurgitated his own words back at him, uttering a trite 'yes, at least' before taking my leave.

With skill borne of habit, I pushed my emotions aside and focussed on the logistics – if he _did_ want a romantic involvement, how would I respond? With a sigh, I leaned back against the cool wall of the dungeon. How _would_ I respond? I understand that most people would call these sorts of thoughts 'counting your hippogriff eggs before they've hatched', but for people like me, it's just practical to think ahead. So long as you don't attach any sentiment or hopes to the outcomes you consider, it's all academic. I closed my eyes, remembering Harry's arm around me, remembering his eyes on mine, his hand brushing away a strand of my hair. Yes – totally academic. No emotions here! But even as I remembered all of that, I could hear Blaise's sardonic drawl, see his contemptuous smile as he passed me a cigarette. Harry made me feel like a good person, like a _better_ person. Blaise made me feel like myself. So who did I want to be? Myself or somebody better? But then, better in what respect? Nicer? Kinder? More Gryffindor? More like my father or more like my mother? And then, quite suddenly, Blaise's voice (for once not sardonic, but something close to earnest) echoed in my mind: _Perhaps it's time that you stopped trying to be like either of them._

I sighed. So then – what did _I_, Estelle Dahlquist or Black or whatever, want?

"To be better." I murmured out loud, my eyes flicking open. "To be better." Harry's face swam before my eyes. "To be somebody that Sirius would have liked. To be somebody _Maman_ could have admired, somebody who didn't make her mistakes." And that was the key – I had to learn from what my parents had done, and let their experiences _guide_, not dictate, my decisions. My mother had left a man who loved her because he had made a terrible mistake.

And I had a boy who would wait for me for hours to come and tell him what was wrong. A boy who knew all of my flaws and still put up with me. A boy who cared about my family, who'd lied for me on a hundred occasions. A boy who would always tell me the truth, no matter how hurtful it was.

I had a boy who cared about me and hadn't done a single thing wrong.

"Blaise." I said, my voice a little louder now. "I choose Blaise." And I felt such relief at that decision, such certainty! The truth was, I wasn't sure of Blaise any more than I was sure of Harry. A part of me screamed out in protest against my decision, a part of me longed for green eyes and messy hair. But the truth was that being _with_ Harry just wasn't practical, especially not now, with Lucius in jail and the wizarding world in chaos around us. And Blaise? He'd only ever looked out for me, in his own, caustic way. He'd stood by me even when to do so had jeopardised his reputation – in fact, that's how we'd gotten into this situation. I would never have fooled myself into thinking that Blaise loved me, but I knew that he cared about me, and his actions had demonstrated that he would never hurt me. He'd earned my loyalty, and I would deliver.

And Harry? Well. It was likely he hadn't meant that he wanted to be involved with me at all. And I could control my irrational possessiveness where he was concerned, and my excitement whenever he was around. All of that wasn't difficult to suppress, and I _had_ to suppress it. They were just emotions, after all, and emotions never helped anybody. They just complicated things. All strategic decisions should be made free of emotion, and there was little in this world more strategic than the romantic relationships of teenagers at boarding school. I didn't want to give him up – I didn't think I would do that again – but we'd just be friends.

"There you are." My eyes flicked open just as Jess tugged harshly at my hair.

"_Merde_, Jessica!" I snapped, hitting her hand away. "Can I help you?"

She looked at me with cool appraising eyes. "You look like you've been thoroughly snogged." She told me accusingly. "Care to explain?"

With a scowl I pushed myself off of the wall, folding my arms. "The only explanation I can think of is that you're _insane_." I sniffed. "I haven't snogged anybody." And then my mouth curved into a smile. "Actually, I was just thinking about Blaise…"

Jess shot me a sceptical look. "Oh? Really? Not _Potter,_ then?"

My smile morphed into a frown. "Oh, _please_, Jess." I said, "we were just _talking_."

"I _know_ that, but _why_?" Jess demanded, losing her cool demeanour and glaring furiously at me. "I mean, after what he did to Lucius? He's in _Azkaban_ because of Harry Potter and his cronies! What could you possibly have to talk about?"

I met her gaze, torn between two impulses. I could either deny the whole thing and brush it off, or I could tell her the truth about Harry, about what he _really_ meant to me. I considered each outcome. If I told her that it meant nothing, she would spread it around Slytherin in a heartbeat, and Draco would kill me. But then, if I told her the truth, she was much less likely to gossip about it and much _more_ likely to keep it to herself, ready to blackmail me with it at the most opportune moment, by which time I would have found a way to silence her. Of course, if I told her the truth and she told Draco, I'd be in even worse shit. I hated gambling, but on the odds it was better to admit the truth. She already knew I'd been in contact with Harry last year – all I needed to do was put a little spin on the reason we were talking now. "He did lock up Lucius." I said. "And the thought _kills_ me, but Jess, try to understand – he knew my father. He knew him really well. _That's_ what we have to talk about. And I need to talk to somebody."

She frowned, unconvinced. "So talk to Blaise." She suggested. "He's your _boyfriend_, not Potter."

I scoffed. "Blaise?" I asked with an amused smile. "As though I could talk to _Blaise_ about this sort of thing! He would _never_ understand. He's had a hundred fathers and his mother has _always_ been there." I had to sell it, had to make Jess believe that the _only_ person for this job was Gryffindor's Poster Boy, Mr Harry James Potter. From the look on her face, I was succeeding. "Harry never knew his parents – he only knows what people tell him. Just like me. So he _understands_ that I want to know more." I looked at her from the corners of my eyes, evaluating where she stood. She seemed to be mulling over the information I'd given her – a good sign. "Please, Jess." I said after waiting the optimum amount of time. "He's the only person who's ever really understood me and I _need_ him. Please."

It was fairly lucky that Jess and I had never discussed my affinity with Blaise, otherwise she could have caught me out in a heartbeat. It was also lucky that she hadn't realised the flaw in my argument – that I'd been ignoring him since we'd returned to school.

"This is the first time you've talked to him properly all year." Jess pointed out.

Spoken too soon. I bit my lip. "Yeah." I admitted, my mind whirring. "Sort of. But he's always _ been_ there, and just having that knowledge makes me feel better. If you tell Draco, he'll kill Harry and then he definitely won't be there for me anymore."

Jess' face expressed her grudging concession to that point, but before she could answer me, she gave a startled sort of smile and said. "Well _hi_, Blaise. Have you been there long?"

I glanced over my shoulder to see Blaise leaning against the wall, his face wreathed in shadow. Shit. I hoped he hadn't heard my little speech – it was _exactly_ the sort of thing he would take the wrong way. He didn't answer for a long minute, but finally, with a sigh, he said, "do you think I often wait in the corridors, eavesdropping?" He scoffed. "I like to think I have better things to do."

"You _like_ to think that." I said jovially. "But it isn't true."

He didn't respond, but I felt a chill as his gaze fell on me. "Are you two going to the common room?" He asked rather redundantly. I frowned, concerned by his behaviour.

Jess, however, seemed unfazed. "Yes." She said with a smile. "Walk with us?" He fell into step with us, and we walked the few remaining metres to the common room in complete silence.

When we stepped inside, the place was in its usual state of uproar, despite the fact that very few students were actually there. Miranda Althorp and Emmett Greaves were taking advantage of our favourite 'what happens in Slytherin stays in Slytherin' rule and snogging on the couch. Emmett's younger sister, Hortense, was _not_ impressed and had consequently gathered a band of third years who were constructing an elaborate house of cards around the couple. An innocent enough prank, were it not for the fact that the cards were from a deck of exploding snap. By the fireplace, Marcus Cleevebridge, Aimery De Zwart and Phillip Crichton were making skilful use of 'wingardium leviosa' to peek up the skirts of the sixth year girls gossiping by the armchairs. Draco was sitting with Pansy at the desks, but instead of furiously scribbling out an essay like his companions, he was staring broodily into the distance, lost in thought. Only when my eyes fell on him did I realise that I hadn't seen him properly in weeks. He was always busy, always in the library or sneaking off to somewhere nobody knew about. I was a terrible cousin, I realised then – how could I have allowed such a long time to pass between conversations.

I knew the answer, of course, but I didn't like it. The truth was that lately talking to Draco had been… uncomfortable. He was so secretive, and alternated so sharply between being smug and being anxious – I could barely keep up, and it worried me. Blaise and I must have had a hundred discussions about it, but neither of us knew what to do and every time we tried to talk to him, he'd either sneer at us or retreat – often he'd do both. I missed him terribly, but the truth was that even when he was there, he wasn't and I couldn't reach him. Perhaps a Gryffindor would have been persistent, but Slytherins despise hanging around hopeless situations – instinctively, I wanted to leave him alone until I was sure that I could be of assistance. But that didn't mean that I wouldn't talk to him whenever I saw him, rare as those occasions were becoming. After all, since the battle at the Ministry, he'd drilled into me that we had to present a 'united front', and I would do my part.

I crept over to him, waving a hand in his face. "Drake!" I called softly. "Draco – you there?"

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie in record time. "Estelle! Sorry, I was just planning…" He gestured lamely at the blank roll of parchment laid out in front of him. "My essay."

It was such an effort to maintain this casual, jocular air, but I did it anyway. I nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed?" I said, adopting a posh accent. "I think it might need a little more thought – your argument seems a little… sparse."

Rolling his eyes, Draco greeted Jess and Blaise while I prayed to any god that would have me that Jess decided _not_ to tell him anything. Just as that thought crossed my mind, my god-brother asked, "did anything interesting happen today?"

This was it – the moment of truth. I waited with bated breath, half turning to meet Jess' eyes only to find her watching me. There was a tense moment (disturbed only by Emmett Greaves accidentally setting off the exploding snap card tower to Hortense's clear delight) before she finally turned back to Draco, pasting a smile on her face, and said, "No. Just an ordinary, boring old day. Nothing at all to report."

…

I didn't see Blaise the next day.

Or even the day after that. I wondered if perhaps he was upset that I was speaking to Harry again, but I dismissed that thought. After all, it was ridiculous. Blaise would never be that high-maintenance – if he was, I would have called him up on it long before now. And for a relationship which had started as 'casual', moved into a sham, and only just seemed to be heading somewhere towards a _normal_ relationship (complete with future) he seemed to have a lot of rules he wanted me to adhere to.

And at the same time, just as our relationship seemed to be heading towards an almost _healthy_ stage, Slytherin seemed to have turned against me. The girls were openly hostile to me now, making jokes about 'the old ball and chain' whenever I so much as approached Blaise. There had been elements of this throughout the year, but over the past few days it had intensified exponentially. Before I had assumed that it was just shock to see Blaise (incorrigible man whore, most eligible bachelor) 'settled' with somebody, but lately it had moved far beyond that. The laughter that followed me wherever I went was beginning to haunt me and all I wanted was to know _why_ they hated me.

It was as I was walking along the corridor, lost in my own confusion, that I heard the softest, most malicious whisper. "Little cousin." I froze as the voice echoed around me in perfect French. Was I hearing things? And then again, this time with a note of exasperated disdain. "Little cousin- over _here_." No, I wasn't hearing things. Was it a dream, then?

But no. Only a very bad dream would ever involve Lazzare Beaufils. Pasting a smile on my face, I spun around, clutching my books to my chest.

"Lazzare, old chap." I said, adopting a plummy English accent in honour of the last time we'd spoken. "Jolly good to see you again."

Emerging from the shadows, Lazzare looked unimpressed. He addressed me again, in very deliberate French. "It never ceases to amaze me how little dignity you conduct yourself with." His eyes traced up and down my body, taking in the short robes, the dark hair. "What on earth have you done to yourself _now_?" He murmured scornfully.

I rolled my eyes. We were in my home turf, now. And I would make him suffer, no matter how rattled I really was by his presence. "And how did you manage to sneak in?" I asked drily. "I thought we had a spell on the grounds to ward off the vermin. Or at least, I've never seen rats within the walls before now." I stuck firmly to English. This was clearly going to be a multi-lingual conversation.

His smile was condescending and indulgent. "Oh, well I came to visit _you_, Estelle." Catching sight of my sceptical expression, he corrected himself. "Well, I didn't come to England _specifically_ to visit you. Really, I came to verify some facts. But don't be disappointed. I'm here- in 'Hogwarts'." He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he named my beloved school. "to see you."

I was about to reply when suddenly his words echoed ominously through my mind. "Verifying _which_ facts?" I asked suspiciously, and despite myself, I had reverted to French. "What couldn't you find out in France?"

His smile broadened and my sense of dread increased tenfold. "Why, Estelle." He said darkly, still grinning. "Facts about _you_."

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Oh, _now_ what have I done?" I asked lightly, not letting my panic show through. "was it the tattoo? Or the nipple piercing? Did _that_ bother those stuffy old men back in Versailles?" I noted an opportunity to assert my superiority. With a mock gasp, I covered my mouth. "Oh, did you find out about Blaise and I?"

Lazzare, far from looking annoyed or even disgusted, continued to smile, and that filled me with more fear than if he'd began to shout. "No." He said easily, examining his fingernails. "No, actually, those 'stuffy old men' were more concerned with something your mother did."

Alright, now I really was confused. "My… mother?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "They might have a hard time reprimanding _her_." I told him with mock sadness. "She's a little bit _dead_. Makes it difficult."

"No, you're right." Lazzare waved a pale hand languidly. "They aren't interested in reprimanding her. Or even you." This was making less and less sense, but even as all my theories as to what this was about dissolved, Lazzare's wolfish grin remained. "They merely want to… ensure the integrity of the French nobility is preserved."

"Don't we all?" I said 'passionately'.

He ignored me. "How much do you know about the inheritance laws of our people?" He asked mildly.

I frowned, hefting my books a little higher on my hip and wishing Draco or Blaise would come and save me. "I know that the closest relative inherits the big, important title, while the poor cousin fades into social obscurity." I said sweetly.

But even then he didn't react, just smiled a little more and shook his head. My palms began to sweat- I was genuinely afraid now. "Oh, little cousin." He said almost affectionately. Half paralysed with fear, I waited, waited for him to get to the point, to tell me what he was so keen to get off of his chest. And yet, even as I watched, waited and maintained a solid expression of nonchalance, I knew that this moment was going to change things. Just then, Lazzare looked up and met my gaze straight on. "I was actually referring to the law regarding the nationality of heirs. Do you know it?"

I smiled, but it was a poor effort- brittle and strained. "Why would I?" I asked brightly. "I actually _have_ a life."

His smile grew dark. "It states that, in order to inherit any of the major pureblood titles in France, the descendants must be French."

What? Maybe I was wrong to be afraid. "Gosh," I drawled. "Isn't that just fascinating. Where would I be without these fascinating little tidbits of yours to brighten up my day? Tell you what, _before_ now, I was quite bored, but you've certainly made me feel better. "

I turned to leave, and had moved to the end of the corridor before his voice stopped me in my tracks. "Well now." He said softly. "I wouldn't say I'd made it _better_." I didn't turn around to face him- I just waited. In a moment he was by my side. "The facts I was verifying involved the question of your parentage." He whispered, practically in my ear. "After the Zabini Ball, Alphee related some rather _interesting_ gossip to me." I was confused until I remembered Pansy's heartfelt (if drunken) announcement that I wasn't a bastard. Well, it had to get back to France eventually. "I told Alphee that that girl was probably just repeating a rumour, but on a whim I thought 'why not check it out'?"

"Why do you care?" I asked, still not facing him. I felt him shrug against my shoulder.

"Maybe because although women _can_ inherit titles through their unwed mothers, in order to be considered a French pureblood the law states you must have been sired by somebody with French blood."

I blinked, confused. "What? What does that mean?"

He grinned. "It's an old, archaic law, little cousin." He said kindly. "Long overdue to be amended, but as yet it remains binding." I waited, on some level completely aware of what he meant but still stubbornly refusing to understand. "It means," he continued, "that in the case of children born out of wedlock, French wizards measure nationality by the _father's_ country of birth."

"So?" I whispered.

"So?" Lazzare mocked. And then he spun around me to look me in the eyes. "So, after just a little digging around, I've got all the evidence I need to prove that your father was Sirius Black." I waited- I'd been waiting since I saw him- and he continued. "And Sirius Black was _English_. Which means, little cousin, that _you're_ English. Which means…"

It hit me quite suddenly. "I'm not eligible to inherit." I whispered to myself.

Lazzare clapped his hands together in glee. "Oh, I _knew_ you'd work it out." He said drily. "That's it exactly. And so now I am once again the _only_ eligible heir to the Dahlquist land and title."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xx

A/N: Thanks so much to everybody for these lovely reviews! You all say such wonderful things J This isn't my best work – I'm hoping to go back and change it later, but for now I think I'll just share it as it is.

As always, thanks to my reviewers – **Krasni**, **Agent of Fire**, **fakeituntilyoumakeit**, **Anon**, **bbymojo**, **paganontherock** and **papindlovu**.

And congratulations to **fakeituntilyoumakeit** – you are indeed completely correct when you say that because of her Blood status and her name, she is now a suitable match for Blaise. Of course, the end of this chapter changes that a little.  
The irony of this happening just after you pointed it out! It would have been one chapter, but again – so long.  
There is already an explanation of this coming up – after she is disinherited, as you can imagine it becomes quite the issue.

Interesting to see how people are divided on the Harry/Estelle/Blaise issue. Wish I could keep everybody happy, but that may be difficult.

Keep reviewing, guys!


	4. Chapter 4

It was all around Slytherin by the end of the day. I still don't know how they manage to get hold of news so very quickly- it seems impossible yet they do it every time.

And _this_ time, it was so much worse than ever before.

Last time I'd been gossiped about (back when my parentage had been revealed) although I was an injured, traumatised emotional wreck, the rumour-mill had done nothing but boost my status. No longer a bastard, but the heir to one of the oldest pureblooded families? Well done, Estelle!

Now, I was in perfect health, mentally sound and at least _slightly_ more together than I had been at the end of the last school year, but this rumour was set to destroy me. Or, at the very least, my reputation, which was sadly tied to my title and social standing. It wasn't as though Slytherin was made up entirely of nobility and the rich – that was a myth propagated by the other houses. There were poorer families in Slytherin, naturally. _Much_ poorer, and a few with suspect blood status. We accepted them, for the most part. But this was different. I would fall from the upper echelon of our inner-house hierarchy to the very bottom. I would be met with _pity_ and scorn. I already had been (Daphne and Tracey had found me almost straight away, and given me gentle smiles I'd thought were reserved for people on their deathbeds) and it did not sit well with me.

How had this happened? I asked myself that again and again. _How_? Why?

The answers were embarrassingly obvious (Lazzare and Lazzare) but I indulged in an extended moment of self-pity. He had destroyed _everything_. For all the resentment I'd been harbouring towards my mother, I'd still valued the prestige and wealth her name had given me. I'd never really needed to behave – I was already going to be accepted as the crème of society, why work too hard for that? I'd known my nonchalance (or, you know, 'thoughtless rebellion' as some would call it) would eventually cause me trouble, but I hadn't imagined how much. I'd alienated a lot of people through my insistence on being as painful as possible – now I wanted to kick myself. The few people who could tolerate my 'manners', as they were, were unlikely to stick by me now that my title had vanished into thin air.

Lost and confused, I wandered around the school, avoiding all areas where the Slytherins might be congregating and failing dismally. Eventually, I slipped into a deserted teacher's lounge. I vaguely remembered a simpler time, back before I'd been anything but Estelle Dahlquist – Malfoy ward and Slytherin darling – when I'd snuck into a party in this same lounge. With a smile, I realised that that was before Blaise was even an issue.

Ah… Blaise. With a groan, I buried my head in my arms as I curled up on one of the dusty plush couches. What would Blaise say? Something horrid and condescending, no doubt. That was all he ever said, really.

And Draco? Oh, and Narcissa?

But this wasn't my fault! I think that was the hardest thing – there wasn't anything I could have done to stop this happening… but at the same time, just a little less arrogance and a little more _cunning_ and I would be in a much better position than I currently was. Why had I worked so hard to rebel? Why had I been so spineless at Beauxbatons? Why had I paid so little attention to the intricacies of social politics when I'd first arrived at Hogwarts?

Why Why Why.

If I had, perhaps somebody would have stood up to Lazzare. If I had, the Beaufils would have seen me as somebody to suck up to, rather than somebody they could destroy.

I had been such a _child_ – thoughtless and immature. I had failed to take proper care and I was not ready to face the consequences of my actions. If I went outside, I'd be met with a barrage of goodwill, a litany of support. It would all be fake. Even now, the Slytherins would be discussing my 'misfortune', how 'common' I would be now that I didn't have a title to make up for my failings. Would anybody stand up for me, I wondered. Would anybody care?

It was in that state of self pity which I remained for an indeterminate amount of time. Perhaps it was one hour, perhaps it was two. Maybe it was six? It seemed like only a brief moment, however, before I was interrupted.

"Miss Dahlquist." I looked up from where I sat, huddled on the couch, to see Snape sneering down at me. This would not be pleasant – I had skived off of his Tuesday class, and he was clearly here to punish me. Really, it was shocking that it had taken him so long to chase me down.

"Professor." I said flatly, tucking my knees back under my chin. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" It took me a moment to realise that I'd gone a whole sentence without insulting him. The thought gave me pause. "Or are you just trying to find a hiding place where the cool kids won't find you and beat you up?"

Snape was particularly unimpressed. "Ten points from Slytherin." He said reflexively before falling into silence again. Had I been just slightly more capable of thinking, I might have noted how weird it was to be in the same room as Snape, how awkward it was that neither of us were speaking. But quite frankly I didn't care just then. He broke the silence first. "You have been summoned, Dahlquist." He said eventually.

I looked up at him, smiling hollowly. "Who are you, the new messenger boy?" My smile broadened a little as I considered the implications of that. "We'll have to change the saying to '_shoot_ the messenger, for god's sake, shoot!'"

His mouth turns downwards. "Most amusing, Dahlquist." He sneered. "Your ability to be utterly tiresome even when in shock never ceases to amaze." Clearly bored of the whole thing, he looked around the room. "You have been summoned." He repeated. "To discuss an 'important' matter'."

I grinned. "Three guesses what it is?" I suggested, and when he didn't answer I sighed and got to my feet. The stiffness of my limbs shocked me – how long had I been sitting in that tiny room, curled up in that tiny ball? "Alright, we'd best go then."

Without another word, Snape turned on his heel, leading me through the corridors. I don't recall if we passed any students on the way, but being aware of the possibility, I made sure to keep my back straight and my chin proudly raised. It really wouldn't help matters any if everybody thought I were some sort of snivelling mess.

I was surprised to say the least when we arrived at our destination – the giant stone eagle guarding Dumbledore's office. I'd thought perhaps he would take me to Slughorn, or Macgonnagal, who more often than not seemed to take responsibility for me. Snape didn't give me much time to consider it, though, just whispered the password and then began climbing the stairs without checking to see if I was following. For a moment, I really did consider sneaking off and leaving him to it, but my practical side prevailed – I _needed_ to work out my next step, needed to decide my course of action. There was no point wasting any time. I followed him.

As we neared the doorway at the very top, I became aware of the gentle murmuring of voices from inside the office – a quiet, comforting and altogether too cheerful sound for the occasion. For the first time, I wondered just who would be participating in this little tete-a-tete. My previous candidates came to mind: Macgonnagal (interfering cow would probably come out with some life-changing revelation nobody had thought to share with me before) and Slughorn (my one-man fan club). Dumbldore, clearly – it was his office after all. But beyond that? I just wasn't sure. Logically, there had to be _somebody_ there who was directly involved in the issue. I froze for a second – Lazzare? Surely not, though. They wouldn't do that to me! And furthermore, if Lazzare was in that room, nobody would be _cheerful_. They'd probably be weeping. Just in case, I surreptitiously straightened the sailor collar I'd attached to my magically shortened robes and wiped under my eyes. If Lazzare _was_ going to be present, I would look indomitable and fierce.

I stepped in boldly after Snape.

Dumbledore was, after everything, not present. Nor were Slughorn or Macgonnagal. Instead, when I walked into his office, I saw Narcissa seated elegantly at the desk holding a cup of tea while Draco paced awkwardly by the fireplace. Other than that, everything looked the same – an office lined with interfering portraits and full of intricate looking instruments. As I entered, Narcissa glanced up, holding my gaze for a while before beckoning me in. I stepped inside the room with some reluctance. At that point, I would almost have rather stayed with Snape, so deep was my discomfort. How had my Aunt found out so quickly? And what strings had she pulled to secure a meeting? I hadn't thought she had any influence left after Lucius' disgrace. Narcissa and I looked at each other for a good long while before she finally spoke, tilting her chin elegantly as she did so. "You haven't asked me why I want to speak to you." She said coolly.

Neither of us had bothered with greetings.

I shook my head. "I know why." As soon as I said that, Draco started a little, and stopped his pacing to stand by my side.

Narcissa nodded. Of _course_ I did, I wasn't an idiot. "You haven't asked me whether you should be worried."

Again, it was obvious. "I know I should be." I intoned again. "Lazzare is a particularly sneaky brand of wizard. He'd never bother taunting me unless he was sure of his case."

She pressed her lips firmly together. "Indeed." She intoned. "The grasping are most often thorough." There was a slight pause, during which I took the opportunity to ask, "and how did _you_ find out? Lazzare didn't seem as though he'd wasted much time spreading the gossip around before he came to visit."

Her eyes darted smoothly up to meet mine. "Lazzare Beaufils was _here_?" She asked coolly. "In the school?" When I nodded, her gaze shifted from me to somebody behind my left shoulder, one eyebrow raised in silent inquiry.

"Generally students' relatives are _not_ permitted to freely wander the school." Snape's voice droned from behind me. I hadn't realised he was still here. It was an uncomfortable reminder of his close ties to my family – ties which didn't sit well with my constant abuse of him this term. "But somebody must have let him in. I'll notify Dumbledore."

Draco jumped a little when Snape mentioned Dumbledore, and Narcissa gave a delicate little sniff. "As though he doesn't already know." She said, before turning her attention back to me. "I know everything that concerns you and Draco." She answered me, somewhat vaguely. I supposed she'd heard it from one of her friends. "We must consider your possible courses of actions."

I glanced around us. "And this is our committee?" I asked haughtily. "My disgraced foster mother, my teenage cousin, my _teacher_ and the past headmasters of Hogwarts?" I gestured to the portraits lining the walls.

"Just one of them, young lady!" A voice barked shortly. I turned to see Phineas Nigellus, my erstwhile ancestor, wagging a finger at me. "And I do _not_ like your tone." As though I cared what he liked. Oblivious to that train of thought, his little painted eyes fell to my attire. "What in _Merlin's_ name are you wearing?" He demanded, flabbergasted.

Everybody ignored that question. Draco fidgeted awkwardly beside me, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. Narcissa looked away from me, her eyes fixed on him, full of all the worry and stress they always held where he was concerned. But I didn't really care about him, or what he was doing. This was about _me_, and if I was going to get out of this with my reputation intact, we couldn't just sit about looking concerned for one another. We had to discuss. "There is the most obvious option." I said slowly, reluctantly. Narcissa met my gaze, and I continued. "There's no proof that I'm Sirius Black's daughter."

The awkward silence that followed was broken by a shocked wheeze from the painting on the wall. "Don't you _dare_!" Phineas Nigellus gasped from his frame, quite scandalised. "Don't you _dare_ disown your father!"

"Oh, pipe down." I snapped at him. "I won't. I _can't_ – there's no proof that I'm _not_ his daughter, either – there's not even another likely candidate, and I couldn't deny it without a suitable alternative." Phineas still looked sulky, and I rolled my eyes. "I was just _stating_ the obvious. Crossing it off the list."

He did not seem overly placated. "Ungrateful imp!" He said petulantly. "To even _suggest_ such a thing… it must be the French blood coming out."

I looked back to Narcissa, who was calmly sipping her tea. As I watched she lowered the cup steadily, looking at her clasped hands, her eyes cool. "What would you consider a _viable_ option, Estelle?" She asked aloofly. "I think those will be the _only_ ones we will bother considering today."

I flushed, just slightly embarrassed. "I don't know." I admitted, squaring my shoulders. "It's such a terrible mess."

Narcissa looked up, her gaze somewhere out the window. "Think." She said coldly. "Think what you would do."

What, was this some kind of test? I pressed my fingers against my temples, fighting off a killer headache. "I wouldn't panic, for starters." I said, impressing absolutely nobody with my penchant for stating the obvious. "The threat isn't real – at least, not _officially_. Unofficially it is very real. Lazzarre wouldn't even think of bringing this before the Wizengamot unless he was certain that he would win."

"And so?"

I considered. "We have two ways to go about it." I said. "First," I lifted one finger, "we could fight it. Dig up any scrap of evidence we could find to damn his claim. Perhaps Sirius Black was French, perhaps there's some sort of precedent. Do we have proof that they were never married? Could we take a look at the statute in question and try to find loopholes." Narcissa was watching me with a blank face. I sighed. "I wouldn't consider that option." I told her. "It's undignified, uncertain and smacks of desperation. Besides, why bother trying to win over a court?"

"And so?"

Was she going to say anything else? I continued. "That leaves the second option." I said, raising another finger. "We ignore the court and follow the _people_. If the Wizarding Community believes that I have the superior claim to the Dahlquist title, then I can hold on to my status, and Lazzare will be shunned."

"He'll still have the title." Draco contributed somewhat hoarsely from the fireplace. It was the first time he'd spoken. "So what good would that do?"

I shrugged. "Without any respect attached to it, a title is just words." I told him. "I can call myself Queen of China, but nobody will care if they don't think I deserve that rank." My smile was small and vicious. "If we play it right, this could be a hollow win for Lazzare."

"And how do you intend on playing it?" Draco asked, sounding more snide than the situation merited. As he spoke, he picked up one of the strange instruments on Dumbledore's fireplace, handling it with a strange, almost angry look on his face.

"Draco, _do_ stop fiddling!" Narcissa snapped. "Put that down immediately." Draco scowled, following her instructions and folding his arms. Satisfied, she turned back to me. "Husband."

I raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

"Potential suitors. We need to demonstrate that you're still a viable conquest."

"oh." That was _not_ a good idea – I could just imagine Blaise's face if I began accepting suitors. Even if we _still_ hadn't discussed whatever we were, he'd kill me the second he heard about it. "Yes – but maybe not _straight _away." I said, thinking fast. "It would look like I was rushing to make a good marriage before my name lost all respectability."

"That _is_ how it would look." Draco agreed, to my surprise. He still sounded fairly sullen, but at least he was contributing on _my_ side. "She shouldn't do that first."

None of us mentioned that I'd burned my own bridges by being such a shit to most of the pureblood society. I loved them for that. "So first I have to be…" I considered. "Charming."

There was a moment of silence. To my surprise, it was Draco who broke it. "I've seen you be charming." He told me, a small smile on his face. "It was terrifying."

Was that a joke? He hadn't joked in so long I could barely remember what to look for. "Oh, shove off, Drake." I snapped, keeping a smile on my face. "I'm wonderfully charming, and everybody thinks so."

"Yup. Professor Snape thinks you're _very_ charming, don't you, Professor Snape?"

I'd forgotten that Snape was there, but before he could answer or I could reply, Narcissa cut us both off. But for once, I wasn't the object of her ire "Draco, _behave_." She hissed, and his face fell. "I would think you would be _concentrating_, rather than mucking about like a child! This is serious." His face relaxed into its habitual sneer, and his shoulders hunched. Watching him, Narcissa seemed to regret her outburst, but she didn't apologise. Instead, she just kept staring at him, as though trying to work him out. "I wonder why you came." She said coolly. "When there are other things you ought to be concerned with."

Draco's head snapped sharply up. "That's _why_ I'm _here_, Mother." He muttered viciously. "_Research_." That made no sense to me, but Narcissa just frowned, then shot a significant look at Snape.

I waited a moment before interrupting with a lilting, "shall we talk about _me_ now?" Nobody answered – not even Phineas – so I continued. "Right. I can't make friends with people's parents, but I _can_ forge connections among their children here at Hogwarts." I considered. "There isn't much of a pick – the Brunedell-Bryces are acceptable. And, of course there's Theo and his lot."

"They hate you." Draco supplied 'helpfully'.

"Well, I'll _change_ that." I snapped back at him. Any camaraderie between us was gone the second Narcissa had reminded Draco of whatever had been making him so distant all term. "I can do that – I know I can."

"You'll also have to be _polite_. And well-behaved. At _all times_." Narcissa's words were accompanied by a very significant look – of course Snape had ratted me out! "Your reputation as a disrespectful little whelp does you a great disservice. People need to believe that you're _worthy_ of the title." There was a moment of tense silence as we all considered this. "Well, that will do for now." She said abruptly, and I realised that she was ending the conversation, and the visit along with it, I supposed. Her gaze fell onto me. "We've given you enough to go on with, and we have established that you are aware of the _gravity_ of your situation."

Phineas had clearly been quiet for too long by then, because he finally spoke up. "This is _unfortunate_, but hardly a tragedy." He suggested. "The Dahlquist name _is_ a pretty trophy, but don't forget that you have Black manor and all the Black properties. You're hardly some destitute little match girl."

I raised an eyebrow, looking at him. "Didn't anybody tell you?" I asked him sweetly. "Didn't anybody say?" He waited, little painted arms folded angrily. I grinned, leaning forwards a little. "Sirius Black left _everything_ to Harry Potter."

Phineas gaped for a moment, mouth hanging open in shock. And then he snapped out of it. "He _what_? My great-great-grandson… he left the manor to a _half-blood_?"

Honestly, I hadn't heard anything much about a manor, but before I could say that, Snape (of all people) had answered Phineas. "There _is_ no 'Black Manor'. No castle. No property in France." He said smoothly, relishing the words. "After Orion Black's death, those were left to young Regulus, who died a _Death-Eater_." I could see his self-satisfied smirk in my mind's eye – yes, Snape would adore telling this story. "And as you know, the property of criminals belongs to the _State_." There was a short pause. "I believe they converted the Manor to a rather sharp set of office buildings."

Whether Phineas was upset or trying to convey his disdain for Snape, he strutted out of his frame before Snape had finished speaking.

There was an awkward pause, during which time I watched Draco. He was staring at Dumbledore's desk, now, frowning so intently that a deep furrow had appeared between his eyes. His hands were clenched into fists, and his jaw was tight. I would have thought he was furious, except for the fact that while the rest of him was tensed as though preparing for a fight, his mouth was almost _quivering_. I thought perhaps he was afraid, but I wasn't sure what of.

"You ought to leave." Snape's voice slithered around the room again. "Narcissa and I will have a quiet word."

Normally I would have argued, but now I just took Draco gently by the arm, tugging him towards the door. Remembering my newfound image, I spun on my heel at the last moment. "It was lovely to see you, Aunt Narcissa. And you, Phineas. And you, Professor Snivellu…." Narcissa caught my eye, and I gave her a razor sharp smile. "Professor _Snape_. I very much enjoyed your visit."

And with that parting shot of sarcasm, I sashayed out of the room. For tradition's sake, though, I lingered in the doorway to listen to what they said after my departure.

"She's a menace." Was the first thing I heard – Snape. What a tosser. "Becoming worse everyday."

"This will bring her to her senses." Was Narcissa's tired answer. "Her self-preservation instincts are far too strong for her to continue to sabotage herself to upset you. Especially after this…"

I would have listened more, but I felt Draco's hand on my shoulder. "Are you coming?" He demanded angrily, before stomping off down the hall.

Reluctantly I followed, my mind buzzing. Reluctant to discuss the day's crisis, I sighed, shooting Draco a glance. "So." I said lightly. "Dumbledore, eh? Strange man."

Draco didn't respond. Instead, he seemed to stiffen, almost as though in shock. When I peered at his face, I saw that he'd gone a few shades paler. "What about Dumbledore?" He asked me through clenched teeth.

I blinked in surprise. "Nothing, not really." I said quickly. "He let us use his office. That's all." I considered. "Do you think he's using the paintings to spy on us?"

Draco shook his head. "No, Snape said that he sent them away. To give us privacy. But Phineas came back, anyway."

I snorted. "I'd believe that." I told him, but it was still bothering me. "Why wasn't he there, though?" I asked. "He usually takes every opportunity to interfere."

"He's away. On business." Draco said quickly, the words coming out in two short barks. "He's been away from half the year, never with any explanation."

"How would you even know that, Draco?" I asked suspiciously, but he didn't answer me. Eventually, I gave up, shrugging. "I feel as though we haven't talked in a while." I told him softly. "Shall we talk now? We could get some hot chocolate from the kitchens… talk about what happened…"

Draco turned to me with hateful eyes. "I'm _busy_, Estelle." He snapped. "We can talk another time." And without another word, he strode off.

I stayed where I'd been standing, completely stunned by his violent reaction. What had I said to upset him? Absurdly, I felt like crying. I hadn't cried over the loss of my title yet, but my cousin and I had one little fight and I was about to turn into a blubbering mess. Alone again, I looked around myself with angry eyes. As luck had it, Draco and I had been walking through the very corridor Lazzare had cornered me in just a few hours before. Standing there now, I considered the day's events and wondered why I wasn't more of a mess.

"Estelle." I sighed. What was it about this corridor which meant that I was forever getting hailed by people I really didn't want to see? Harry stepped up behind me, smiling awkwardly. I raised an eyebrow and waited. "I heard." He admitted with a little shrug.

Before he could speak again, I cut him off. "From who?" At the look on his face, I felt the need to elaborate. "I'm trying to keep track of this rumour… before it spins out of control. Who told you?"

He frowned. "Oh. Yes, that makes sense… I think that Michael Corner from Ravenclaw told Ginny, but I don't know how he found out." He looked annoyed at the idea that Weaslette was speaking to the Corner boy again, and the expression on his face irked me – why should he care. "And I overheard Ginny telling Neville about it. Anyway, I'm sorry you were disinherited."

I smiled darkly. "Yes, well." Looking away, I smiled a little more. "The ironic thing about it is that, considering that my _dear _father also didn't see fit to include me in a will, I've now been disinherited _twice_." Harry just watched me quite carefully. I shot him another smile. "I never really have been one to do things by halves." We stood there in silence, me weary and him incredibly awkward. It would have taken a fool to not know he was _dying_ to say something beyond what we'd already said. "Oh, have at it, Potter." I said with a sigh. "Say whatever borderline offensive but _entirely_ innocent and well-intentioned thing you want to say."

He frowned a little, but straightened his back and met my gaze squarely. "How is Zabini taking it?"

That had _not_ been what I expected. I raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

Harry sighed, glancing away from me, deep in thought, before returning his gaze to mine. "The last time we talked." He paused. "_Yesterday_, I suppose, you showed me that the Dahlquist title is nothing for Zabini to scoff at." It was clear how stupid he thought the entire arrangement was, but he continued without commenting. "But now… I'm sorry, but you don't have that any more, Estelle. I suppose I was just checking… that you were okay."

I frowned. "I would have thought you _knew_ not to do that, Potter." I warned him, and he gave me a sheepish smile. "You know I _hate_ that. I'm fine. Really, absolutely fine." He kept his gaze fixed on me and though he didn't say a word I knew he didn't believe me for a second. "And anyway." I continued boldly. "I haven't lost the title yet – it's under review. They can't disinherit me straight away." Harry just kept looking at me, his eyes full of muted concern and something else. Eventually I sighed. "Stop looking at me like that." I ordered him imperiously. "Honestly, Potter. I'm not worried, why should you be?"

After a moment's pause, he gave a little shrug. "I don't know. You've had a hard year. I don't want anything else happening." He looked away from me. "Now, I don't _like_ Zabini. He's an absolute pain. But if you like him, then I'm hoping he takes this in his stride." And then his big green eyes met mine. "For your sake. Because I want you to be happy."

I was utterly taken aback by that. "I don't understand."

His gaze was very serious. "I think you do, Estelle." He said, stepping a little closer. There wasn't a lot of space between us now, and while normally being that close to anybody wouldn't faze me, with Harry I felt fidgety and a little unsure of myself. I wished he would move back so I could think clearly. "I know you hate it, but I _do_ worry about you."

I frowned. "Don't do that." I told him sternly. "I _hate_ that."

He shrugged again. "Can't help it." He said honestly. But then, clearly seeing that I didn't want to talk about this anymore, he shook his head and changed the subject. "There's a Hogwarts weekend coming up."

Unable to help myself, I tiredly cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" I asked, putting on a sultry voice. "Are you asking me out, Potter?"

He flushed beet red. "What? N-no. No, I'm not." He gave a nervous sort of laugh, stepping back from me.

I grinned, running a hand through my hair. "It was a joke." I told him softly.

The silence that followed was more companionable than awkward, but it was fraught with unspoken emotions. Being a Gryffindor, it was Harry who couldn't handle that for too long. "Did you want to talk?" He asked me quietly. "about your title?"

Did I? "Yes." I said absently, looking in the direction in which Draco had powered off. It would have been nice to have talked it over with my cousin. But then I glanced back at Harry and gave him a small smile. "But not to you."

His face seemed to darken a little. "You'd rather talk to Malfoy?" He asked. I considered that possibility thoroughly before shaking my head. "What, to Zabini, then?" I nodded and he sighed. "Alright. But if you need anything, you know I'm here, right?"

I'd already turned to leave, but at his words, I glanced over my shoulder. "Oh, Potter." I said almost bitterly. "I never really need anything."

…..

Blaise, I knew, would be waiting in the Astronomy Tower.

He always was, after all. Whenever I was upset.

It was uncanny and almost disconcerting how he'd always end up waiting for me at the top of the stairs, whether I'd had a fight with Jess, or a particularly awful detention or failed an assignment. No matter what the scenario or how little notice he was given, Blaise could always sense when I needed him, and he would always be there.

Perhaps that was why when I mounted the last step up the long Astronomy staircase, I was surprised not to see him. I'd already visualised how it would be – he would have been waiting there since hearing the news (so, a good few hours) and so would be sitting on the ground, long legs stretched in front of him, resting his arm on one bent knee with a fag dangling from his fingers. Probably, considering how long it had taken me to get here, there would be other cigarette butts littering the floor.

When I saw that the patch of wall was empty, and the floor completely clear of any cigarettes, I blinked in shock. At first, I thought I was hallucinating. I realise now how ridiculous that was. Why should I reach the conclusion that I was going crazy before the much more likely conclusion that Blaise wasn't there?

Was it possible that he hadn't heard? I supposed it might be. Harry knew, but maybe the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor grapevine had just moved particularly fast that day. It was possible. Perhaps he'd been studying, or had been busy with something else.

_A girl_. My treacherous brain suggested. _That's what you would have thought before you were together – that Blaise was with a girl_.

But he wasn't, and I knew that.

So, I reasoned, he'd be here soon.

I settled down to wait for him.

….

The cold woke me up. It was almost dark by then, with the sun dipping down behind the hills and long shadows cast all around me, and the air was cool. With a groan, I stretched out, wincing as blood began to circulate through my stiff limbs. I must have been asleep for a while.

Blaise hadn't come.

That realisation upset me more than I cared to admit, but I pushed my feelings to the side. I stood slowly – one of my feet had fallen asleep – walking over to the balcony to look at the grounds.

Hogwarts looked so beautiful in the sunset – the last days of summer had been golden and warm, but tonight a cool breeze was blowing, and the sky was a study in blue and orange. Everything was still, except for the wind in the trees. I felt the cool smooth stone under my palms and the gentle breeze caressing my face and gazed over the empty grounds. It was as though I were the only person in the world. Never before had I felt quite so alone, quite so detached from everybody. A part of me wanted to stay there, but I knew I couldn't. No, this fantasy world wasn't for me – I needed Blaise to ground me and help me fix the mess which my prospects had become. And yet, I was no damsel in distress – if he wasn't coming to me, I could go find him.

With that thought in mind, I made my way down to the dungeons.

It must have been after dinner because the corridors were clear, and I glided through the school without bumping into anybody at all. That was better, though. My mind was still in an odd place between racing and frozen, and I don't know how well I could have managed polite conversation.

The walk to the dungeons was strangely quick. It seemed like no time at all before I'd whispered the password and slipped into the corridor leading to the rest of my housemates. As I crossed the threshold, I braced myself for their reactions.

It was nothing if not anticlimactic. The second I stepped into the common room, it went oddly quiet. The older kids glanced at me once before looking away, their faces full of disdain. The younger ones were less dismissive but equally scornful. Even the little first years looked up at me with awe and fear. But my 'friends' were the worst - they looked at me for a moment, and then each of their mouths formed into tiny little smiles, as though they were _anticipating_ something. It frightened me.

Keeping my chin high, I moved through the unfriendly crowds, searching for a familiar face. Blaise was nowhere to be seen, and Draco clearly hadn't returned yet, but Crabbe and Theo were sitting at Draco's usual table so I made my way over to them.

"Hey, Crabbe." I said wearily, running a hand through my hair. "You haven't seen Blaise, have you?" Crabbe didn't say a thing, just met my gaze for a long moment before looking abruptly away. Confused, I looked to Theo. We hadn't really spoken recently. I tried a smile. "Theo. Do you know where Blaise is?"

Theo met my gaze squarely, his thin face scrunching up a little into a sneer. "Heard about your title, _Dahlquist_." He said, his tone just a little too gleeful to be polite. "Awful news. Just _awful_."

Taken aback, I switched my manner from casual to imperious. "Well, it's _inconvenient_, I'm sure." I said in my most careful English. "But we're hardly worried."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Who's this 'we'?" He asked. "Seeing as you're the last one left?"

My answering smile was small and tight. "Don't worry about _me_, Theo." I said sweetly. "Safety in numbers is more a principle for the weak to live by – I'm quite fine on my own."

His grin was truly malicious. "Well, then." He whispered. "I guess it's good that you'll be used to it, isn't it? You know, for when the Beaufils take your name away from you, too." He didn't give me a chance to answer before his manner changed dramatically. In a split second, he'd morphed back into the languid, bookish boy I'd known before. "I think Blaise is upstairs." He said, with a disconcertingly nice smile. "He's been up there almost _all_ afternoon."

His rapid change in demeanour had shocked me, but I didn't let it show. I just followed his lead, and with a slightly cool smile and a nod of my head, said. "Thank you, boys. I think I'll just head downstairs."

It was only natural, I supposed. I'd avoided Theo since the incident at the Ministry so we'd hardly had the opportunity to gain closure after his father's arrest. And besides, so far I'd been protected by Draco or by Blaise at every turn – this was his first chance to kick me while I was down. I decided not to let it get to me – this open hostility was better than the pity the girls had shown me.

As I headed down the passage which lead to the boys' dorms, I thought back on everything Theo had said. He hated me, truly hated me – and I was meant to make him _like_ me? This was going to be harder than I'd anticipated. Of course, I reasoned, he wasn't a high priority, anyway. The rest of Europe's Wizarding Community would regard the war in England with a fair amount of scorn, so they weren't likely to support the Notts, or any of the families whose parents were involved. They were more likely to pay heed to the support of families who weren't associated with either side – the presence of death eaters in my ranks would maybe even do me a disservice.

_Like_ _the Malfoys_, that treacherous voice whispered again. I ignored it, continuing my path down to the dorms. This part of the dungeon was beautiful – like on the higher levels, there were many arched windows, and it was more like an enclosed bridge than a corridor. And yet, instead of sky, outside the bridge was the greenish water of the lake, currently midnight blue. I ran my fingers along the glass barriers separating me from the water, wondering not for the first time what it would be like if the glass broke.

I bumped into Marcus on my way through. He was (typically) not wearing pants.

"Hey, Estelle." He said, grinning at me and waggling his eyebrows. "Great timing!"

"Cleevebridge." I answered wearily. "You don't seem to be wearing any pants."

His nod was triumphant. "Hence the great timing." He told me happily. At that point, the tiny part of his brain which registered current events must have kicked into life and his grin sputtered and failed. "I heard about your title."

"Well, that hardly makes you special." I told him cheekily. "I think everybody has heard about it."

"I'm sorry."

His simple, genuine, innuendo-free apology scared me more than I cared to admit. "No need to be sorry." I told him with a carefree laugh, far from what I was really feeling. "This is just a game of chess – he's made the first move. Now it's my turn."

Cleevebridge frowned sceptically, but within a moment he decided to accept my explanation. "Of course that's the story!" He said cheerfully. "Well, he'll be sorry to go up against you, babe. You're a little bit wild." He chortled all of the way out to the common room, and I watched him go, perplexed. Not because he _still_ hadn't put on pants, and yet was heading for a public place, but because I'd caught a glimpse of deep intelligence during out conversation – was he _faking_ his lout act?

And in that case, should I be even more freaked out by his condolences?

I wanted desperately to talk to Blaise by that stage, and walked swiftly down the last stretch of the corridor. The dorm Blaise shared with Draco and Theo was near the back of the corridor, and I headed for it with a growing sense of desperation. Just seeing him would make me feel better, I thought. He always managed to help me sort out my thoughts and emotions and proceed logically. If anybody could get me through this, it was Blaise.

I pushed the door open as I had done a hundred times before, stepping silently inside.

…. They were on the bed.

It's hard to believe that they hadn't heard me come in, but perhaps they really _had_ been too involved in themselves, in each other.

They didn't stop, in any case, and I didn't call out to them. So for almost a minute I stood there in silent shock while I watched Blaise and Pansy writhing on the sheets. They were clothed, or _mostly_ clothed, so that was something, the logical part of my brain reflected as though from a great distance away. It would have been awkward to walk in on them _really_ going at it…

The less logical part of my brain scoffed in answer – as though _this _wasn't awkward enough. The pain had bubbled inside me for a moment, making breathing a struggle, but at that thought it dissipated so quickly that I nearly staggered. I was left with cold, hard fury.

Gently, I leaned back on the door, nudging it shut with my back. In the end, it was the click as the lock slid back into place that got their attention.

Such as it was, anyway. Neither of them actually moved, and we were caught for a moment in an odd limbo, with them frozen in time on top of each other and me watching impassively from the doorway. It was idiotic Pansy, never very good at reading a room, who broke the moment. "Oops!" She giggled, before letting out a childish shriek. "Oops, it's _Estelle_ – don't you knock?" Still she made no move to push Blaise off, actually reaching up and caressing his shoulder.

I considered her question thoughtfully, pulling a cigarette out of my shirt pocket and lighting it on the tip of my wand. "Sometimes." I answered honestly. "But for the most part – _no_. Knocking is _so_ common. And besides, usually if people don't want to be disturbed, they lock the door." I was speaking directly to Pansy – I didn't want to look at Blaise just yet. "Did you want to be disturbed?"

Pansy shook her head, a malicious glint in her eyes. "Well, _I_ didn't." She said smugly. "I was having a grand old time." She wasn't wearing a shirt, and her skirt was unbuttoned. I decided not to comment on that.

"Sorry that I bothered you, then." I said coolly.

She grinned. "It's okay." She assured me, wriggling out from underneath Blaise, who wordlessly rolled onto his side to free her. "You can just _leave_. You know where the door is."

I looked away from her again, taking another drag. "That's the thing." I told her nonchalantly. "I sort of need to have a word with Blaise."

He still hadn't said anything. In a way, I was glad.

Pansy seemed unimpressed. "Well, I'm not moving." She said, folding her arms and crossing her legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I could make out Blaise straightening the sheets a little behind her. "Screw you, Dahlquist – he doesn't want you right now, don't you see?" She turned to Blaise. "Blaise, honey, make her bugger off."

I don't remember speaking, but I must have because in a second I'd flicked my wand and Pansy had gone shooting off of the bed and landed on the floor. "I said _leave_, Pansy." I half snarled, my cool tone almost completely gone. "I sort of need to talk to Blaise. My _boyfriend_."

She shrieked with laughter, lying quite happily on the carpet. "Oh, oh _oh_." She gasped for air. "Did you say _boyfriend_? Merlin, you _are_ delusional."

I didn't know what was happening. "Just go away, Pansy." I said stiffly. "Now. Before I curse you."

Pansy pouted, rolling onto her stomach and kicking her legs in the air. But she wasn't the one who responded.

"Estelle." Blaise's voice was cold and cutting. "Since when have you had the right to send people out of _my_ dorm?"

I wanted to cry, but knew better than that. I took a shaky drag, trying to calm myself before I met Blaise's gaze. Finally, I turned to him, wanting to scratch at his eyes. "You're right, I suppose." I said. "I _don't_ have that right." I narrowed my gaze a little as I watched him. He looked so perfect just then, coffee skin against the white sheets, huge dark eyes fixed on me, his hair just a little messy. "Will _you_ send her away?"

His mouth curved down into a cruel sneer, one I hadn't seen directed at me in _so_ long. "I don't really want to."

My temper frayed a little more. "_Merde_, Blaise." I hissed. "What are you playing at?"

He sighed. "Do you want me to explain it _slowly_?" He asked, making his voice humiliatingly loud. "I want to have _sex_ with _Pansy_. So I'm not going to ask her to leave. Do. You. Understand?" His eyes were utterly unreadable – some part of me was hoping that this was some sort of bizarre joke, but that seemed less and less likely.

"I waited for you." I told him slowly, thoughtless to how he could mock my feelings. When he said nothing, I took another drag and continued despite myself. "I waited for _hours_. I needed you."

"And I was busy." Blaise said darkly. He stretched back on the bed, leaning his head onto his hands. "I was _enjoying_ myself. Come on, Estelle – enough of this. You're embarrassing yourself."

I gave an almost hysterical laugh, lowering my cigarette and running a hand through my hair. "Look, Blaise." I said. "I _really_ want to play this game, too, but I don't understand what's happening right now." I looked up at him, and to my shame, I was sure that my eyes were full of fear and need. "What are you doing? What's going on?"

His eyes flashed, and for just a minute their expression seemed to mirror my own. But then it was gone. "Don't be such a fool, Estelle." He said coldly. "I don't know exactly what there _is_ to explain. You hardly _own_ me."

I hardly owned him. I considered his words for a moment. I didn't _own_ him…

And then it clicked. Of _course_ I didn't – in reality, we weren't going out. In reality, we never had been. So what if we'd been acting as though we had up until now? Clearly, Blaise had decided to revert back to the truth – a truth _I_ had thought no longer existed. I thought our lie had become a reality… obviously not. I nodded pensively, looking from Blaise to Pansy, who lay half naked on the floor, obviously without any intention of moving.

Was this really happening? I wondered, completely lost. Was my entire life really falling apart this quickly? "Right." I said softly, glancing away from him. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"We never said this was exclusive." Blaise was talking again. "At the beginning – you never said you wanted it to be _real_ – remember, you didn't want a relationship?"

The beginning, he said – I'd forgotten that we had one of those. Lately, it had seemed so _normal_ for us to be together, so timeless. "Yes, I suppose we _did_ say that." I said calmly, thinking back to the _very_ beginning, just after the Zabini ball.

There were a number of ways I could've handled this. I mean, so what if the boy I thought liked me didn't care as much as I thought he did? I could dump him. Insult him. Humiliate him. But I just stood there.

I still wasn't looking at him, so I didn't see his face as he said. "So then, what the hell is your problem?"

This was ridiculous – hilarious! A small, tired smile came to my face of its own accord and I gave a weary little laugh. "Nothing, I guess." I said softly, more to myself than anybody else. "I've just had a _truly_ shitty day." Neither Blaise nor Pansy spoke. I suppose I looked too pathetic, to unhappy for it to be worth their time. The thought shamed me beyond words. Slowly, I looked up at the both of them, channelling all my energy into keeping my chin held high and my eyes looking fierce. "Enjoy your night." I said coolly, and then as elegantly as I could I pulled the door open and stepped outside. I just left him there, knowing that he'd be back on top of Pansy in a second. Feeling just a little masochistic, I hovered for a second outside the door. I'm not sure why I did it, or what I was hoping to hear. Perhaps I was hoping they'd fight, or that he'd send her out. Maybe I wanted to hear absolute silence as they contemplated how badly they'd treated me.

I didn't hear any of that, of course. This was _Slytherin_, and in Slytherin we are all about instant gratification over guilty consciences.

Also, the doors are seriously thick, so all I could hear were muffled sort of giggles. It didn't take long for me to get bored of that. After a few seconds, I began my own little 'walk of shame' back up the corridor to the room full of Slytherins who knew I'd just confronted Blaise and Pansy _in flagrante_.

I still wasn't 100% sure what was happening, or of the full effect of these events. At that point in time, I just couldn't comprehend it, and I really didn't want to. I was cold and stiff and sore from an hour of waiting for Blaise on the stone steps. I'd been emotionally crushed _twice_ in one day, and I really didn't want to think about it anymore.

That walk back to the common room seemed to last forever, but that was good really, because I needed the time to clear my head. Momentarily, I considered just staying in the corridor, or even heading up to Marcus' room. But no, Slytherins weren't _cowards_, we were just _practical, _and hiding indefinitely in Marcus' dorm was hardly a practical course of action.

Before I could lose my nerve, I took a step into the room.

It was oddly silent again, and I wondered whether they had been waiting for me, trying to listen to our conversation. The thought unnerved me.

"Hey, Estelle." Somebody called cheerfully. But was it cheerful, or was it mocking? I just couldn't tell anymore. Who knew and who didn't? Who cared? Who was on _my_ side? The answer: it didn't matter. Either way, I had my role to play in all of this. Sucking in my cheeks, I shot them a glowing smile, pretending I wasn't about to throttle somebody.

I'd been so stupid. That really was the only word to describe it- stupid and naïve. Everybody knew that Blaise didn't get weighed down. Everybody knew he had a different girl every day- any girl and every pureblooded girl. He didn't _do_ relationships, because nobody was enough to entertain him.

And _what_ had I done? I'd _forced_ him into one. I ought to have known that he would react badly, I _did_ know that he would react badly. I suppose what I hadn't expected was for him to bide his time about it. He'd waited to show me his displeasure, waited until it would hurt the most… which it really did. Especially because it came from him. I'd just had my social standing ripped from me, and whatever he was doing was endangering my reputation within the school. How could these people respect me, support me, if they heard about _this_? At least, I reflected, he was in the wrong. It would be demeaning, but I could play the victim here. I could be the poor, young girl – in love with a man who broke her heart. Really, it ought to get me the sympathy vote everywhere except in Slytherin.

But I felt like there was more to this.

"Oh, _Estelle_." I looked up to see Tracey and Daphne standing before me with equally evil little smiles on their pretty faces. It was Daphne who'd spoken. "You look just _awful_ – did you have some sort of shock?"

What could I do? Should I play the victim or act nonchalant in the hopes that nobody knew about Blaise and Pansy? I went with nonchalant. "Yes, well – everybody has been _so_ kind, but truthfully I'm not worried. I know my claim is stronger than my cousin's, and I'm sure the courts will see that."

The two girls looked at each other in confusion. "Oh, you mean your _title_." Tracey said slowly. "We thought you might be a little upset about Blaise and Pansy."

I tried not to wince.

"You know, you really ought to have expected it." Daphne said in a singsong voice, circling me. "How long did you think he was going to humour you for?"

I blinked in confusion. "Humour me? What do you…"

"I suppose you _didn't_ think – logic goes out the window when you're so _obsessed_." Tracey's smile turned truly malicious. "Don't worry, though, sweetie. You might not have money or a name, but there's always love potions to get yourself a man."

"Just maybe leave Blaise alone for a little while." Daphne stage whispered, her lips pressed into a slight pout. I found I couldn't look away from it – she'd coated them with lipgloss so thick that it looked like she'd dipped her lips in slick, shiny paint. It made me feel ill. "He's had enough of your brand of crazy to last him a _lifetime_."

I tried to regain control of the situation. "I don't know what you're talking about…" I began, but they both laughed and flounced away without letting me finish. I didn't have much of a chance to recover before the next onslaught.

"Look who it is." I spun around to see one of Eliot Pucey's friends standing behind me with a grin on his face. "Hey, Dahlquist – I hear you need a new guy to stalk. I'd like to put myself forward for that position." I had never been so confused, so at a loss in my life. Unable to even think of a witty reply, I shot him a glare and turned to walk away. "Don't _go_, Dahlquist!" He called after me. "I don't mind about your new social status – titles and clothing are optional!"

A few people snickered, and once again I was left reeling, feeling completely overwhelmed.

"Estelle…"

"Don't." I snapped, spinning around and jerking out of reach of the hand which had just rested on my shoulder. Prepared for another attack, I looked up into the face of this new assailant, only see Eliot Pucey, who was giving me a sort of sympathetic smile. "Oh. Pucey." I managed a flirty smile, the sort I always gave him. "Sorry, I thought you were…" I looked around the Common Room. "… Everybody else."

He shrugged. "No, just me." He paused for a moment, not meeting my eyes. "So, I was just going to say…"

Trying to control the confused tears which were welling up in my eyes (to my disgust) I forced a smile. "That you want me to stalk _you_, that I need to leave Blai… Zabini alone?"

My last minute switch to a more formal name for Blaise didn't escape Pucey's notice, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he sighed. "No. No, I was just going to suggest that you… leave for a few hours." Was he _banishing_ me? "Not because I want you gone, or anything – Merlin, Estelle." He gave a nervous laugh. "No, because it might be better for you to stay away from everybody until this dies down." He paused. "Where's your cousin?" When I shrugged despondently, he gave a loud, tired sigh. "Man, I am _not_ one for babysitting, and you would _definitely_ be no fun right now."

"Careful, Pucey!" Somebody giggled. "You've been talking to her for more than five minutes… she'll think that means you're in _love_."

"I _wish_!" Pucey bellowed back. "Have you _seen_ this girl? What a fox." At that moment, I was insanely grateful to Elliot Pucey. He turned back to me, his expression serious once more. "Is there anywhere you can hide out for a few hours? Anyone you could sit with?"

I shook my head. "I'm really not sure." I confessed. "I think I might just go for a walk."

Pucey nodded. "Alright." He agreed slowly. And then, because he was Pucey and could never be _too_ caring, he said, "I don't have to come with you, do I? Because I'm playing a really heated game of exploding snap…"

I rolled my eyes. "Just go, Pucey." I said tiredly, mustering up another gleaming smile for him. "I'm just fine by myself."

His grin stretched across his face, wide and playful, and just like that the concerned friend was replaced by the sleaze. "Yeah, I know you are, Dahlquist." He said proudly. "Now run along before one of these girls stabs you." As I turned to go, he gave me an affectionate slap on the bum by way of saying goodbye.

So I left. Like a coward, a Gryffindor would probably say.

But I know better – this was a strategic retreat, and the second I knew what the hell was going on, I'd be back and ready for a fight.

….

The next day was just the same. I ended up skipping my classes, like the coward I was, and hiding out in the library to avoid the snickers and the glares. I honestly had no clue what was happening, why they all seemed to hate me so much more than usual.

I wracked my brain, considering the past few months. There had been signs of this hostility from the girls for ages, but something _must_ have happened to trigger the events of yesterday. I tried to narrow it down – Tracy and Daphne had been awful after they'd found out about my title, but not even comparable to how they'd acted when I saw them in the common room. It was rare for Slytherins to be openly mean to each other for any extended period of time – there was just no point. Everybody else already hated us – why should we fight amongst ourselves? But everybody had been pretty cruel that night…

There had to have been a catalyst – something to spark that fire. I had to find out what it was. And of course, there was only one person in the world who could tell me, and he was the _last_ person I wanted to see. But sacrifices must be made for the sake of one's reputation, and so (after making sure I looked as pretty as was humanly possible) I headed for the Tower, where I knew he would be no matter what had happened yesterday. I could just _sense_ it. Yesterday had been about proving a point, but I knew we were both mature enough to recognise that we _had_ to talk now. It was only sensible.

This time Blaise was already there, leaning against the wall and staring at nothing. I hated the way my stomach swooped at the sight of him, hated the churning in my gut, but there was nothing I could do but try to stay calm.

This was the first time, I realised as I pulled a fag out of my pocket and lit it on the tip of my wand, that I would have spoken to him, seen him, since yesterday. A flash of him lying shirtless next to Pansy appeared unwanted in my mind. The spurt of latent anger I felt at that image was enough to spur me into action. "Alright." I said, stepping out of the shadows. Blaise didn't react in the slightest, just kept looking out of the windows. "I have spent all _day_ being the butt of every joke." My mouth twisted into what I was sure was an ugly sneer. "Politics aside, Zabini, what the _fuck_ is going on?"

He reached out a hand, and without thinking I passed him my cigarette. He took a long, slow drag. "I never wanted this public." He began. "Or at least, we _agreed_ it would be private. I had _assumed_ that meant I would have some say as to how or when it became common knowledge."

Suddenly, I understood. We'd never actually talked about this – I suppose I ought to have known that that didn't mean it was gone. With a sigh, I leant back against the window ledge, glaring at him. "I snogged you in front of Harry at the station." I said. "And this is your revenge? Your _incredibly_ delayed revenge?"

"Revenge is such a hot-tempered word." Blaise said easily. And then he shot me the first look he had all day. It was difficult to read, his face was wreathed in shadows and his eyes were dark, but I thought it might have been affectionate. "This is what you didn't understand – you and I, we just don't work out in the real world. It's in the dark where we come together and fit. We're honest with each other here. Away from everybody else. Free from scrutiny and judgement we are ourselves." I didn't comment, just continued to look at him, waiting for an explanation. He sighed again and turned away. "There were reasons I wanted to have a say in when or _if_ we became public." He passed me the cigarette, but I shook my head, refusing it. He frowned for a moment, then took another drag. "Firstly, because you're a bastard and a wild card and despite the clear pedigree of your blood, you're considered to be one of the worst prospects in our social bracket."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, we mustn't offend society." I said bitterly.

"Don't be flippant, Estelle. You know that it's a serious concern in our world." Blaise said, annoyed. "Your problem is that you seem to be in denial. You refuse to accept that our lives are going to be governed by society until we die. So you're stuck firmly in our world, but you refuse to play the game. It's a risk taking you on."

In a rather detached way I felt oddly satisfied that I was a 'risk'. It sounded dangerous. "And the next reason?"

Blaise looked at me carefully. "Ties into the first. Your place as a Dahlquist is tenuous. You've always had some serious contenders for the title, and they aren't to be underestimated. Lazzare is a sneaky bastard, and sweet little Alphee has the devil behind those baby-blue eyes. Your seat is in no way guaranteed, _especially_ now, and without it you're nothing but a bastard with a pretty face and famous relatives. Like a kitchen maid's whelp. And there's no honour in being linked to a kitchen maid's whelp."

It was quite clear, suddenly. "I'm a gamble." I said.

Blaise nodded, tapping the cigarette so that a little shower of ash scattered on the windowsill. "You are." He said. "And I've never been a gambling man."

Everything made so much more sense now. "So you've been hedging your bets." I said. Blaise made to continue, but I cut him off. "No, don't explain- I see it now. I outed us before you were ready and you panicked. Before, you were forging a connection to one of the most eligible bachelorettes in Europe – Dahlquist _and_ Black? It just got better and better." I lit another cigarette, taking a drag. Blaise reached for it, but I ignored him. "That I might lose my title wasn't important, because nobody knew. But in the event that I _did_ manage to claim both my family properties, well then no doubt you would have sat me down and had a talk to me about the two of us perhaps 'taking the next step in our relationship'." I laughed. "You couldn't lose… until I ruined it for you. And since then, you've been trying to repair the situation. You've been hinting that I've been hounding you, but you don't want anything serious. That's why Daphne and Tracey have been laughing and making snide comments whenever I sit next to you. That's why Pansy's always whispering about me. _They_ think that I'm just one scented letter away from stalking you. And if I secure my inheritance? Well, then you realise that perhaps we _do_ have a future. And if I _don't_… then it's no loss. You've always had fan girls." My eyes narrowed dangerously. "You've been _using_ me. You're trying to humiliate me…"

"Oh, don't make it so personal." Blaise snapped, suddenly angry. "I'm not doing this to humiliate you – this is damage control, after _you_ went and destroyed everything."

"I destroyed _nothing_." I hissed at him, for once wishing I could scream and yell and hurl things around like some ill-tempered Gryffindor. "I was demonstrating _faith_ in you when I kissed you in front of everybody. I was showing you that _I_ wasn't ashamed."

His laugh was bitter. "That, my dear, is because you had nothing to be ashamed of." He snapped. "I'm a legitimate, pureblood heir. I'm good looking and popular and smart. My family owns no less than _six_ properties, which I will inherit after my mother's death, but when I turn seventeen I'll already merit invitations to every ball, because I would have come into my title. _You're_ the disgrace! You're the scandal!"

I met his eyes. "Say that again?"

He laughed. "Lets see… what does Estelle Dahlquist have to offer. Let me think for just a moment.. I have it." His smile was viciously cruel. "Pretty. Nice figure. Good grades and handy with a wand. Now we get to the important things." His smile widened, and he lifted one hand to tick off his points as he went along. "Social graces? None to speak of. Properties? Well, after last week, none to speak of." He lowered a finger with each sentence. "Titles? Well, it seems that neither of your parents wanted you, so after last week, none to speak of. At least you'll always have your good name, but wait…." His eyes gleamed like the always did when he hammered a point home. "Black never acknowledged you. Somebody else just claimed the Dahlquist name, and you're _illegitimate_."

I felt like he'd punched me in the gut. But he wasn't finished yet. "And yet, your blood means that nobody will allow you to move down into the lower social circles, who wouldn't have you anyway because they think you're a snob." He leaned in conspiratorially, then frowned as though deep in thought. "So, nobody of your pedigree will marry you, and you'll end up wedded to some fourth son of a nouveau riche half blood out of sheer desperation, the eccentric woman people invite to parties because of her family connections, but who never fits in and whom nobody likes."

"Are you done?" I asked coolly, folding my arms.

Perhaps he thought he'd gone too far. Perhaps he felt guilty, but for whatever reason, Blaise finished. With a sigh, he plucked my cigarette from between my lips and took a drag. "Do you understand now, Estelle?" He asked calmly. "Why I had to do what I did. It's just _politics_."

My nod was slow and considering as I processed everything he'd said. "I do understand." I told him, my voice almost completely devoid of emotion as I once again pictured him and half-naked Pansy writhing on the bed. Such colourful material for my future nightmares.

We didn't speak again for almost five minutes, and in that time, his eyes never left my face. "Good." He said, finally looking away again. "Good. Now, I think we should work out our next step. Lazzare has made it impractical for us to date, and as you can see, I've gone to lengths to ensure that we appear to be 'friends with benefits', which you may remember, was the idea from the beginning." I wasn't really paying attention to him. I was still thinking over what he'd said before. "I made a speech to that effect yesterday, which was why everybody was so excitable when you left my dorm."

"Yes." I said finally, when I realised that he was waiting. "Very… neat. It has worked out very neatly indeed."

Blaise nodded, satisfied. "I think so. And there's no reason it shouldn't continue like that… Estelle?" He was holding the cigarette out to me again, but I hadn't noticed. In reality, I felt very odd indeed. Behind my eyes felt hot to the point of being painful, and my stomach was quivering. "Estelle?"

I glanced down at the cigarette he was proffering, frowning despite myself. Was I… upset? Was I going to cry? Blaise, in the meantime, looked annoyed, still offering me the cigarette. "I don't want that." I said finally.

Blaise looked from me to the cigarette and nodded. "Alright." He said easily, taking it back for another drag. "More for me, I suppose." There was a pause before he continued. "We don't need to talk about this much more. Really, we just need to return to how it was."

I cleared my throat. "Easily done." I told him, and he nodded.

"I'm glad that you understand." He said shortly. And then he paused. "I don't… I didn't mean to upset you. It's just the truth." I nodded absently, waiting for him to leave, but he didn't. "I know it seems cruel. But really, this was your idea. This is what you wanted from the beginning – to just be friends who snog. Remember?"

I nodded. "I do."

Still, he didn't leave. "And, I _do_ want to. To be friends, I mean. I've… gotten used to having you around, and I don't want…"

"Blaise." I cut him off, forcing an amused smile to my face. "Stop worrying."

The concerned, tentative look in his eyes disappeared. "I'm not worried." He told me, instantly pulling back at the insinuation that he cared. "Not even a little."

I forced myself to shake my head and laugh. This is what the situation called for – devious Estelle, who understood this sort of behaviour. That's who Blaise wanted – scheming, twisted Estelle, who could plot and plan and didn't mind that he was ripping out her heart. "I know, but it's just so _easy_ to mess with you." I teased drily. "Now." I glanced away. "I'd better go. Davis has it in for me, and she's trawling the corridors tonight."

Blaise nodded. "Of course." He seemed placated by my nonchalance.

"Alright then." I smiled. "I'm off. See you tomorrow, I suppose?"

He nodded again, looking suspicious. But before I could leave, he grabbed my arm and pulled me in for a long kiss.

"I really am glad, you know." He said, sounding typically disinterested despite his rather 'interested' behaviour, when we pulled apart, our foreheads still touching. "That you understand."

It took a huge effort for me to stroke a hand down his arm, smile and turn on my heel, but I did. And it was as I was leaving that I realised something. That sick, hot feeling in my gut? It wasn't sadness, it was fury. When I'd said "I don't want that." I hadn't been talking about the cigarette – I'd been talking about our new situation. And scheming, twisted Estelle? She should have been the last person Blaise wanted to see. Because the truth was, I'd finally realised something – Blaise had won this round. He'd made me look a fool. But before tonight, I hadn't been playing the political game, not at all. And now? Now I was determined to win.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews, guys! Seem to be averaging around seven per chapter, which is pretty good in my books. Sorry if this chapter is a little weak or rushed – will have another look at it later but life is crazy at the moment and I just felt awful for leaving you all in the lurch. Next chapter will be more Harry and less self-pitying Estelle. Promise!

On that note... please don't hate Blaise completely! Just the normal amount will do for now. He's a complete bastard, but there's method to his madness.

Let me know if there's anything/one you want to see. Next is the Hogsmeade visit so there's room for some Mundungus and some Tonks or whoever, really :)

KEEP REVIEWING - it motivates me :)

**Dazzled-Midnight-Melody**: That is a long review – thanks for taking the time! And also, thanks for pointing that out about Hagrid. Not sure what my brain was doing when I wrote that bit – shall change it after this. You're right about Snape – Lee certainly had no problem with him, beyond finding him a tad creepy, and Sirius would probably be initially amused and then disapproving of Estelle's behavior. Sadly, she's a slight mess right now, which will only get worse. If it makes you feel any better at all, people are calling her up on it. In the last chapter I think both Slughorn and Blaise point out exactly what you did J

**Fred the Man**: I admire your passion, Fred the Man, but the Slytherin bias is pretty much the whole point of this story. When I read the books, I often wondered about the Slytherins, so alienated and cruel and despised. Kids aren't actually born brats, and ambition can make people ruthless but not necessarily evil. I wanted to show another side to that. I pretty much assume that people reading this will be aware that this is, as you have pointed out, biased. I also know that they'll be able to call the Slytherins up on it, and that they know the whole story. You're right about the upcoming difficulties – don't worry, they will be addressed. For now, I'll leave you with a line from the very first chapter of the very first Installment:

'_No matter how this all looks, no matter what everybody thinks, I'm no death eater, and I want even one person to see that._

_And maybe that one person could, I don't know, spread it around a little. Because Sirius Black would want the world to know that, despite appearances, his daughter fought on the right side of the war.'_

What that means is, don't stress – it will all be explained.

**Paganontherock**: On fire, my friend! That will come up, but not for a while. They'll try other avenues, first. It was mentioned here (as you may note) but they won't seriously pursue it yet … you'll see.

**Katchile94**, **quaquaquaqua**, **NightWindAlchemist** and **momorocks101ful**…. Happy? So marks the end of the Blaise era… for now (evil laugh). Making room for Harry.

**Kaitie**–thanks for the review!

**tmoon97** – happy birthday!

**TheAgentofFire** – don't worry! She isn't going to hate Sirius again in the near future. She's sort of saving that anger for other people.


	5. Chapter 5

One trait which I like to think I inherited from my father is my ability to go from being absolutely gutted to furious in under a minute.

That might sound fairly standard to you (they call it a 'mood swing') but there's something special about mine.

They're _sustainable_.

I can get mad and _stay_ mad as long as needs be. And at this particular point in time, I was furious. I won't deny that I have an atrocious habit of misdirecting my anger, but as Lazzare was nowhere to be seen, Blaise was just about to cop _all_ of my rage. Of course, my competitive nature necessitated that my revenge would outdo Blaise's revenge, so I was brainstorming like a mad woman from the second I came back from the tower. I'd sat myself down on one of the window seats (they look into the lake – it's morbid but quite nice) and began to think about my vengeance.

It would be beautiful.

That was all I had so far. I didn't know what I would do or when, or who I would involve. My brain ran in tired circles, the image of Blaise and Pansy playing on an endless loop in my head.

But more than that, in a transparent attempt to avoid plotting, my mind had thrown up a new epiphany – if Blaise had been laying the groundwork for his devious plan for quite some time, how was it that I hadn't heard about it?

If he'd been gossiping about me to _everybody_, making it seem as though I were his little stalker, how come nobody had pulled me aside to ask me themselves? While I was under no delusions about having the complete loyalty of any of my house mates (Slytherins don't _do_ complete loyalty) I had thought some of them at least preferred me to Blaise. So why hadn't I been told?

When I heard footsteps approaching, I deduced immediately that it wasn't either Jess _or_ Carmeline, and I knew it wasn't Blaise. That left…

"Estelle?" I heard Draco yawn. "Estelle, Carmeline said that you've been out here all night."

Draco and I hadn't spoken since yesterday, either. "That's true." I answered impassively.

There was a brief, annoyed pause. "Were you planning on going to bed, or…"

"Why didn't you tell me, Draco?" I cut across him, suddenly quite annoyed. It would have saved me _so_ much humiliation if he could have just let me know the impression Blaise was giving the others behind my back. "Why didn't you warn me about what he was doing?"

I heard him sigh, and in a moment, he was sitting up on the ledge next to me. "I warned you at the beginning." He told me honestly. "I told you _not_ to get involved. You ignored me and then this is what happened. But I did warn you."

As I processed this information, I took another quick drag of my cigarette, exhaling rainbow smoke rings, courtesy of a nifty little bonus charm which had come with the pack. "I suppose you did, yes." I allowed calmly. "I don't really know what happened." I admitted. "But I know that he must have done something to focus everybody's attention on this yesterday." There was a slight pause, and I realised that Draco had misinterpreted my question. "I know this is bigger than any one day, Drake." I told him coolly. "I know that Blaise has been building up to this for a while. But for whatever reason…" _Because he knows exactly how to hurt me_. "… yesterday things reached a critical point. He must have done something, _said_ something to everybody."

"Yes."

I wasn't surprised. Of course I wasn't. But I _was_ curious. "Tell me, was it bad?"

Draco sighed, smoothing his hair out. "It was… public. Blaise 'subtly' told me that I needed to have a word to you, because your 'obsession' with him was getting out of hand. He let slip that he didn't want to humour your 'delusions' of being in a relationship any longer."

I nodded. I'd expected as much. "And who did he 'let slip' in front of?" I asked softly.

"Everyone."

It wasn't too bad. Manageable, certainly. My issue was that I was sure that there was more to this story. "And?"

Draco spoke with the utmost reluctance. "He insinuated that you _had_ been together – made it sound as though you were sleeping together and that he expected that relationship to continue." He gave a flustered sounding sigh. "Really, I don't know _what_ you did to make him that angry."

That was awful. The worst thing that he could have said about me. Chastity was quite highly valued in the eyes of the pureblood community. Sure, at Hogwarts we turned a blind eye to minor indiscretions, but when it was publicly announced… well, there was always some goody two-shoes who'd run gossiping to mummy and then the news would spread outside of Hogwarts – _especially_ if the guilty parties were unpopular at the time. That had happened to a couple of students over the past few years. Really it was only an issue if there were some discrepancy in their statuses. So, if a Malfoy were to get too friendly with one of the lesser families, _that_ was a scandal. Invariably, the girl was ruined. Up until yesterday, news that Blaise and I were sleeping together wouldn't have even caused a whisper among the student body and definitely wouldn't have merited a letter to the parents – we were fairly closely matched. But Blaise had made his little speech _after_ news of Lazzare's bid to disinherit me had circulated. We were now worlds apart, status-wise, and it would take a miracle for my peers to hold their tongues when writing home. And it wasn't as though my recent behaviour had endeared me to them.

I don't really believe in miracles. I'd have to contain this myself. People mostly wrote their letters towards the end of the week, and we still had a couple of days til then. With any luck, I could halt this… somehow. I took a long drag of my cigarette. I'd probably finished a packet tonight. "You know." I told Draco matter-of-factly. "I can't… I can't let this go."

Beside me, Draco snorted. "I'd hope not." He said, and he sounded so much more like himself than he had in weeks. "It would just reflect very badly on us if you did."

Perhaps it was the fact that he sounded so completely normal, but suddenly my cool façade shattered. I shot him a shaky smile. "I've never been so embarrassed." I whispered to him, shocking myself with just how much I was opening up. "I don't know if I can beat him at this game, Draco. I don't know what I'm meant to do."

Draco looked at me speculatively, and when he realised that I was serious, his eyes widened in surprise. "Well." He said simply, and then shrugged. "You'll work it out, Estelle. You always do. And besides, there isn't anybody in the world as good at making other people look stupid as you are."

…..

The first thing (and this, I knew, was obvious) was that I couldn't just slag around. That would make me look like a desperate slut, _trying_ to pretend I wasn't jealous. It would make me a laughing stock. And, unless I was _very_ careful, it would also spur on another flurry of correspondence between the more well-behaved Slytherins and their parents.

It had been a full day – a full day of me being a complete pariah. It had been difficult at breakfast, then hellish for the first period. After that, I can't say what happened because I ran. It was cowardly and strategically an awful move but from my point of view absolutely necessary. So during the break before second period I'd slipped away. Sirius' memoirs had talked about a number of secret passages – reading between the lines I'd narrowed down exactly how to get into a few of them. The one leading to the Shrieking Shack was one of them. Happily, nobody noticed me stealing across the grounds, or if they did, nobody bothered to stop me. I wasn't sure whether that thought was comforting or absolutely terrifying. The dramatic, teenage, angsty part of me couldn't help but wonder... had I ceased to matter?

I'd been hiding there all day, allowing angry thoughts to circle round and round my head for the first few hours. The Pansy/Blaise loop had been shot through with memories of the whispers from breakfast. I won't describe them – frankly, as much as this is a confession I _refuse_ to describe my humiliation more than I've already had to. But after a long time, my thoughts stopped being self-pitying and started getting vengeful and cunning. I began, finally, to plan, and the first thing I did was rule out slagging around.

Of course, being abstinent was also out of the picture – it would look like I was pining.

So, I reasoned, staring up at the bright splash of stars I could see through the holes in the roof of the shrieking shack and wondering when it had gotten dark, it would have to be a happy medium, then. Not too much of a slag, and by no means a nun. Also, I would have to be nonchalant.

With a wince, I considered the light Blaise had thrown on me; needy, obsessive, delusional. Those qualities would have to be targeted individually and subsequently dismantled. The way to not appear needy was, obviously, to become entirely neutral. Obsessive could be targeted in a similar way – I had to appear calm and not at all possessive.

Delusional was the issue. By labelling me that, Blaise had hit me with a two-pronged barb. First, he'd made me look crazy, and secondly, he'd established in everybody's minds what our 'relationship' had been. He'd formed their thinking, made then see us as fuck-buddies, then made it look like I saw us as more. There was no point denying the 'fuckbuddies' thing. It was mostly true after all, or had been for a while, and to fight _that_ slur on my reputation would be a waste of energy. No, I had to fight the 'delusional' comment. I had to make it seem as though I hadn't thought Blaise and I were anything other than casual lovers. I grimaced at the thought.

The way to do _that_ was easy – I had to keep up the appearance of sleeping with him.

Furious, I dug my nails into the soft wooden floor until I'd gouged out chunks. This was all _so_ unfair. Bizarrely, I think this was the part I was angriest about. I could see Blaise's reasoning for every other thing he did, every little comment made and deed committed. I could appreciate the art behind his subtle preparation for my downfall, note the skill with which he'd manipulated me. But when I considered the fact that he'd announced to the common room that we were sleeping together, I saw red.

There was no reason for that lie. Not a single, little reason. Perhaps, one could argue, he said it because otherwise he'd had no motivation to humour me. If we weren't sleeping together, why did he put up with me? But that wasn't a good enough reason to ruin me. He'd known what he was doing when he said that, he'd _known_. And he'd told the lie anyway.

All we'd ever done was snog, and he'd made me out to be some sort of tramp. It was malicious and it _hurt_.

But, I reminded myself as I struggled to regain control of my emotions, it was done now and there was utterly no point in worrying about it. I just had to _fix_ it, not brood over it. And, I resolved, follow Draco's advice _much_ more closely in the future.

And with that revelation, my peace was interrupted by the slight scuff of a shoe against the floor. Startled, I sat upright, only to come face to face with… "_Merde…._ Potter?" Crouched across from me, Harry gave a wheezy sort of cough, instantly undermining all the mystery which his stealthy entrance had added to my impression of him. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

He didn't smile at me. "I followed you."

I blinked. Supposedly it was easier to just let that go and not ask questions, so with a sigh I let it go. "Was there any particular reason why you felt the need to do that, or are you just bored tonight?" There was an awkward pause, and the sheepish expression on his face told me all I needed to know. The gossip had gotten round to Gryffindor. I let my head fall backwards with a thump. "Right." I waited for him to bumble out some condolences, to awkwardly attempt to console me in a confused, vaguely offensive way, but he said nothing at all. Instead, he sunk to his knees and lay down next to me.

"What are you looking at?" He asked softly.

The question was so simple, so earnest, so free from any type of scheming, that I smiled despite myself. "The stars." I told him with a sigh. "You can see them through the cracks in the roof – see?"

He looked at them for a moment. "Yeah." He agreed. "That's quite nice."

There was no doubt in my mind that he knew _exactly_ what had happened. His odd connections to the Ravenclaws furnished him with a wealth of Slytherin gossip. I wondered whether the other Gryffindors knew as much as he did, or whether he was just particularly interested in my house happenings. But he didn't say a thing, even though he had been right about every single little detail of this sad saga. Still, his do-goodery presence was like salt in a wound. This sort of sordid saga was _not_ the sort of thing that happened in Gryffindor. I'd bet perfect little Weaslette _never_ had anything like this happen to _her_.

"There's not any point asking you to leave, is there?" I asked drily. "I can _feel_ you judging me."

There was a short silence. "I don't judge you, Estelle." He said with absolutely certainty in his voice. "Truly I don't. I _know_ you're good, deep down."

My mouth curved into a smile. "_Quite_ deep." I said jokingly.

"No. Just below the surface." There was another pause. "And no, I won't leave."

"Of _course_ not." I said, quite meanly, but in reality I was relieved. Harry's stubborn refusal to let me be was one of the most comforting, constant things in my life. "Want to know the worst part?" I said softly. I felt Harry shift next to me and took his silence as a 'yes'. "Okay." I took a deep breath. "The _worst_ part is that he lied about me." I felt horribly awkward and ashamed sharing this with Harry, but it was too late now. Besides, I had to keep up appearances – I had to make it clear that I was _not_ worried by these developments, and the best way to do that was to appear offhand about them. Harry was great practice. "He said we'd slept together. Like, a _lot_."

Harry sat up in a heartbeat. "He said _what_?" I wasn't going to repeat myself, so I just gazed up at Harry. In the darkness, his eyes were almost the same colour as the lake at night. "So, you were just a notch in his bedpost?"

I frowned, pushing myself up and leaning back on the palms of my hands so that I was mostly sitting up. "We didn't really sleep together, Harry." I told him firmly, oddly offended by how quickly he'd believed it. "He _lied_. That's why it's the worst thing."

There was a pause before Harry continued. "That's awful." He said finally. "I've heard about that sort of thing happening, you know, but I've never met anybody that it's happened to."

I _knew_ it. Damn Wealsette – one million boyfriends and _still_ no scandals! "That's because the Gryffindors stick together." I told him. "You're all so… chummy. Slytherins stick together for necessity's sake – strength in numbers – but there's not loyalty as such between us. I doubt anybody in Gryffindor would do to a house mate what Blaise just did to me."

I could vaguely make out Harry shaking his head. "No, I don't think they would." He said earnestly. "I suppose it happens more between inter-house couples? I've heard of guys doing that for the status, but surely your friends don't believe it."

His naiveté was adorable. "It doesn't matter what they believe." I told him plainly. "Honestly, it's been said so it may as well be true. And he didn't do it just for status, anyway – virginity is a valuable commodity in the pureblood circles. Blaise has rendered me 'damaged goods' if this gets out to the wider community. He did it maliciously."

I could feel Harry's Gryffindor principles struggling to understand this concept. "So… it's worse because he made it difficult for you to get another boyfriend?"

That sounded fairly shallow. "No." I said slowly, thinking it through. "It's worse because he made it difficult for me to get a _husband_." I considered. "Well, _more_ difficult – impossible, really – because losing my title already made that hard."

Harry didn't speak for a little while, but when he did his voice was laced with confusion and reluctant judgement, as though he found the whole thing incomprehensible and distasteful but hated thinking of me in a negative light. "But why do you need to worry about that now? You're only fifteen."

This was _such_ a culture shock. "If you haven't noticed, purebloods marry young. Most people do, in the Wizarding world." I could sense his disbelief. "Oh, come off it – my mother was just shy of twenty when she had me. Your parents would have been around the same age."

"Alright, I guess." Harry grumbled. "But why anybody would care whether you'd slept with _Zabini_." I could see his grimace in my mind's eye. "Even though it _is_ Zabini, and he _is_ an absolute tosser, and I don't know why anybody would."

I smiled, rolling onto my side so that I was facing him. "You're quite good at this, Potter." I told him. "Do you have a lot of experience with these situations?" He raised his eyebrows and I elaborated. "You know…" I put on my best bimbo voice. "Ohmi_god_, you can do _so_ much better than that tosser – he doesn't know what he's missing….' You know. Girl talk"

He flushed. "Not really. I mean, I have friends who are girls, but they don't talk to me about this sort of thing." I could just make out his frown. "Frankly, I don't know what I'd do if they _did_. Any boy problems Hermione might have she tends to keep to herself, thank god."

I grinned, running a hand through my hair. "Well, you're doing a good job so far, Potter. Perhaps you wouldn't be as bad as you think."

"No, I definitely would." Harry assured me seriously. "Truly. I'm awful."

"Well, you're the only one who's had anything really helpful to say at all." I told him, lying back down. "Carmeline and Jess seem to be weighing up whether we can still be friends, and most of the boys just say quite lewd things."

He didn't say anything, and I realised he was angry. "Doesn't anybody stand up for you?" He asked darkly. "Any of your friends?"

I sighed. This had been a terrible idea – Harry really wasn't cut out to process this type of situation. "I'm not really a viable option right now." I told him. "Defending me wouldn't exactly send anybody's social status to new heights."

"What about Malfoy?" Harry insisted, his dislike of Draco plain in his voice. "You say that he's earned your loyalty – where is he now?"

"Standing right next to me, Potter." I said coldly. I _hated_ when he brought Draco into things. "He's on _my_ side. We just go about things differently to the way you do. When the house is divided like it is now, you have to tread carefully."

There was a long pause before Harry spoke again. "I didn't realise there were any fights in Slytherin." He said, and I realised that he was changing the subject to avoid a fight. "You always seem to be quite happy with each other."

"Oh, that's just politics." I said, making an effort to let go of my rage and continue our chat. "We want you to think we're strong, so we present a united front no matter what's going on. Trust me when I say that however comfortable we all seem with each other, somebody's always wanting to kill somebody else."

It was an offhand comment, but it seemed to affect Harry more than I'd expected. "I don't understand why you'd willingly be a part of this world, Estelle." He said tiredly, with that perplexed note he so often had in his voice when we spoke. "It's so cold and unfeeling. And judgemental… wouldn't you rather just be happy?"

I considered. "I don't think 'happy' is a word that crops up often in the pureblood dictionary." I mused.

"The Weasleys are happy." Harry pointed out.

"The Weasleys are poor and bizarre." I said dryly. "Besides, of _course_ they don't subscribe to the values of a pureblood society – they're basically a society in themselves, there are so many of them." I tensed slightly as I realised that while Draco or Blaise would have laughed, Harry probably thought I'd gone too far. It was an adjustment – I'd spent so long with the Slytherins that I was completely clueless as to non-pureblood etiquette. I had a sort of hunch that non-pureblood etiquette was basically comprised of 'being polite to everybody'. That _seemed_ easy enough, but I thought it might be a little beyond my skill set.

Perhaps Harry hadn't cared, or perhaps he was just reluctant to fight, or being nice because I'd had such a crappy couple of days, but whichever it was, he didn't call me up on my insulting words. "Whatever you say, Estelle." We lay there in silence for a few more minutes, and I revelled in the easy companionship between us. I didn't feel like I was putting on a show, or like I was lying or had to behave in any particular way – I felt young and free and… well, very close to content. I thought perhaps Harry felt the same – I could feel him smiling in the darkness. "You know, you called me 'Harry' before."

So _that's_ why he was feeling tolerant. My face flamed and I was insanely glad that I'd decided against a lumos charm. "What? I did not." Suddenly I was intensely aware of how close we were to each other. I could feel the heat radiating off of him, and though we weren't quite touching, it felt so very intimate that I blushed even more.

"Yes. You did. You said 'we didn't sleep together, _Harry_.' I was listening. You called me Harry." His hand moved a little bit, and suddenly our fingers were touching.

"You misheard." I said snidely. "I wouldn't call you that."

"But you did."

"I don't call most people by their first names." I insisted.

There was a very long pause before Harry answered me. "I don't think we're 'most people' to each other, Estelle." He said. "And I think you know that." His hand shifted again, and now if I'd moved just a little more our fingers would have been intertwined.

That was quite enough of that. In a flash, I'd pushed myself to my feet. Alarmed, Harry gazed up at me, blinking in confusion. It scared me, but I really wanted to lie back down next to him and talk some more. That was how I knew it was time to go. "Dahlquists are _experts_ when it comes to denial." I told him primly. "I wouldn't hold your breath."

…..

The next day was slightly better. _Slightly_.

I woke up as early as I could and headed straight for the bathroom. It was a pity that I still wasn't sure how I was going to act, but however I decided to play it, it was clear to me that I'd have to look my very best.

And, I realised reluctantly. I'd have to look my most Dahlquist. It had occurred to me after I'd spoken to Harry that, as hard as it was, I didn't just have the one battle to fight. First and foremost, it was my responsibility to reclaim my status. I'd given my word to Narcissa and Draco hours before anything had happened with Blaise, and I intended to keep it. That was the way to think about this.

As I stared at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at how different I looked. I'd seen photos of Sirius Black before, and watching myself now I knew that had we stood next to each other for even half a second, people would have _known_ that he was my father, known that we belonged to each other. My reflection looked exactly like Sirius Black's daughter. I had the dark messy hair, the defiant glint to my eyes. The rebellious smile. My clothes were so deliberately anti-regulation, such a dig at authority.

But I had realised that while I looked like Sirius Black's daughter I looked very little like myself. It was a superficial reflection – nothing more than somebody's daughter – and I was more than that.

It was with reluctance but a sense of necessity that I pointed my wand at my hair and whispered the incantation to return it to its natural colour. My mother was the last Dahlquist that anybody remembered, and I needed to look as much like her as possible. It was a pity and a blessing that my eyes remained their usual stormy grey – a reminder of Sirius Black staring out of my face.

I hated doing that – it felt like I was flipflopping, going back on my original plan, 'wimping out', so to speak. But I knew that it was necessary. It wasn't just because of the Dahlquist reputation that it was best to change my hair back. This year, I'd arrived with short black hair and proceeded to ruin my reputation. It was black-haired Estelle who'd played up in class, who'd 'thrown' herself at Blaise, who'd been humiliated. It was time to remind people of who I'd been before that, time to combine the rebellious mood of this year with the cool, tempered me of the year before and perhaps go even further.

Before now, I'd stayed as much as possible out of the spotlight. That would not work anymore. It was time for me to claim the legacy which my heritage brought with it – I was not naturally inclined to being charming, but I was fully capable of it and it was time for me to dig deep and showcase the charisma that I'd inherited from my parents. To survive this, I would have to become _significant_, much more so than before. Not as Draco's cousin or Blaise's fuck buddy, or even as the Dahlquist heir. No, it was time for me to become important as _myself_, and in wider circles than just Slytherin. I had to combine all these aspects which had made people notice me before. I would still be Draco's cousin, at least _appear_ to be Blaise's fuck-buddy, and maintain that I was the Dahlquist heir, but I would mostly just be 'Estelle', and that would be plenty.

The first important thing was my appearance, that much was fairly standard. I'd already changed my hair, but I wasn't planning on changing my recent habit of taking liberties with the school uniform. Still, for today at least it wasn't about _shocking_ people – I had to look cool. So I'd lengthened my robes back to just above my knees and was wearing patterned stockings. Other than that, my robes were close to normal – they were still black, there were no chunks cut out of them … they _may_ have been a little closely fitted up til my waist, where they flared out into a tutu-esque skirt. I may _also_ have been wearing a green bow instead of a tie. But all in all, it looked _nice_, and not too crazy. I was pleased with the overall effect as I looked at myself in the mirror. My makeup was natural, and my skin was glowing against the gold of my hair. I looked … perfectly respectable and not just a little cool.

"There, now." The mirror cooed, snapping me out of my reverie. "Isn't that much better? You look quite decent!"

I rolled my eyes. "Please leave me alone." I begged it. This bathroom had the _oldest_ mirror in the school – it was from the early fifties and was absolutely dated. It constantly urged the girls to curl their hair or lower their hems.

"Perhaps." It suggested now in its quivering old lady voice, "_perhaps_ just a _touch_ of peach lipstick! That would look _lovely_, dearie!"

Ew. "No, thanks." I said, remembering that I was trying to be polite. "But I do appreciate the suggestion."

"Oh, any time, my lovely!" The mirror said happily. "Run along now!"

Shooting the mirror a half smile, I moved silently out of the bathroom and back towards the dorm. By now I knew that my friends would have woken up – it was time for the real work to begin.

I'd considered this at length and decided that the only way to go was to do a skilful power play. It was essential for me to have as many people on my side as was possible, and the way to do that was to appear to be a viable option. I needed to look like a safe bet.

This is how conflicts in Slytherin usually worked: the problem would arise (say, Blaise basically calling me a whore) and for a little while, people would be silent. Nobody would speak, nobody would even take a side until they had some idea of public opinion on the matter. Nobody wanted to go _against_ the majority, so the first little while following the introduction of a contentious issue was usually just everybody trying to gauge everybody else's opinions. That way, everybody could be sure that they'd be on the winning side.

Eventually, some brave person would come forwards and make their opinions known and then, almost instantly, everybody would take a side – usually the _same_ side. Think lemmings running off of a cliff and you'd have an approximation of Slytherin during a crisis.

Now, when I'd been condemned, there hadn't been that requisite period of silent evaluation, and that was what I was banking on. If people hadn't thought it through before declaring me a pariah, that meant I had a chance to convince them that they'd made the wrong choice. That was the wonderful thing about Slytherin – as quickly as the tide might have turned against me, it could turn back in half the time. Our keen senses of self-preservation meant that Slytherins would always go with the best option, even if that meant going back on everything they'd said or done before. That was why so many of the Death Eaters recanted when faced with prosecution. My classmates were no different. If I could make _my_ side the cool side, I would be fine. That process began with my most immediate peers – it began that morning in my dorm. Resolved to make Lazzare shit his pants when he saw that I was coming for him, I stepped out into the sleeping area.

The girls were all awake. Wilhelmina was standing by the door, looking nervous, and Jess was close by her. It was poor, sweet, uncertain Carmeline who was closest to me, that is to say about three feet away from my bed, and calling to the pile of rumpled blankets that from a distance she must have mistaken for me. "Estelle?" She was saying softly, "Estelle are you awake?"

"Just _leave_ her." Wilhelmina whispered from the other side of the room. "I don't want to walk down to breakfast with her – she is _so_ embarrassing."

Jess shot her a glare. "Oh, _please, _Mina! We have to try, at the very least. She's our _friend_." That sentence would have warmed my heart, except that Jess was whispering as much as the rest of them. She didn't want to wake me up either. I felt a surge of rage – they'd regret considering abandoning me. To support my conclusion, Jess turned to Carmeline and hissed. "I think we've tried enough – she probably just wants to lie low for a bit, you know?"

Carmeline nodded. "Yup. She probably does."

"And I don't blame her." Mina said caustically.

"Don't blame who?" The three girls jumped and turned at the sound of my voice, each of them instantly schooling their faces into expressions of affection and sympathy.

"Estelle, you're up!" Carmeline enthused. "We were just trying to wake you."

I stepped slowly out of the shadows. "Well, for future reference, it's a little easier to wake somebody up if you're standing less than three feet from their bed." As the greenish light lit from the lake up my face and hair, I watched their eyes flash in recognition of my new (or should I say _old_) hair.

"Oh." Carmeline gave me a small smile. "Oh, you changed your hair back."

I returned her smile with a slight nod of my head. "Sorry?" I asked nonchalantly, before running my fingers through my hair. "Oh, this? Yes, well. I thought perhaps the black was getting a little old." I brightened my smile and looked around at them all. "But you never answered my question – blame who?"

Had this scenario happened in Gryffindor, the girls probably would have just shuffled awkwardly for a while, shamefaced. But we were Slytherins, and none of the girls had a hint of guilt or embarrassment about them. Jess quickly steered the conversation elsewhere. "I'm so surprised to see you dressed." She said. "Honestly, I thought you'd want to lay low until the hostility dissipates."

"Nicely said." I told her with a cool smile. "But, no. I think it's best to handle those _rumours_ proactively."

Wilhelmina's eyebrows soared into her hairline. "Rumours?" She asked sceptically. "Really? _That_'s what you're going with?"

I blinked innocently. "Going with? What …" I schooled my face into a disappointed and patronising expression. "Mina, you don't really think I slept with _Blaise_, do you?" She said nothing, and I laughed. "Oh, _wow_. Okay, that's so _funny_." Still chuckling, I picked up my cloak, flinging it over my shoulder. "You make me smile, Mina." I said, doing just that. "Now, are we going down to breakfast?"

There was an awkward silence. It was Wilhelmina who finally spoke out. "I'm not going down with _you_." She said. "Sorry, Estelle, but _I_ value _my _reputation."

Ouch. I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, Mina." I said dismissively. "I guess I'll see you and your reputation at breakfast." I didn't bother turning to ask Jess and Carmeline to come with me, instead, just giving Mina a playful salute and sashaying out of the dorms.

This was the moment of truth. Before everything had gone completely to crap, I'd had allies, and Jess and Carmeline numbered amongst my most loyal. Those allies would either side with me, be neutral or side _against _me, but whatever they did would probably be a result of my behaviour. They would take their cues from how I acted, and if I seemed in control they were more likely to stick by me. This was the first test. If I had pulled off my nonchalant act, Jess and Carmeline would follow me out of the dorm. If they didn't… well, it wasn't the end of the world, but I'd probably want to kill both of them.

_un, deux, trois,_ I counted softly to myself, trying not to cross my fingers.

"Were you planning on waiting for us, Elle?" I head somebody call from behind me. "Or did you want us to run after you like puppies?"

My mouth curved into a satisfied smile and I paused, waiting for my friends to catch up. Jess and Carmeline fell into step on either side of me, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for them. They'd both clearly run to catch up with me, and were panting slightly, but neither gave any indication of it. In these circumstances, politics dictated that I acted as though nothing had happened, but I couldn't help but say. "Just so you know, you made the right choice."

True to form, Carmeline gave me a bright smile and Jess rolled her eyes. "How are you planning on doing this?" Jess asked bluntly, ignoring both my 'thank you' and the fact that she'd clearly intended on distancing herself from me.

I smiled. "Doing what, exactly?" I asked. "I don't understand."

Jess looked annoyed. "It's us, Estelle." She said, sounding quite unimpressed. "How about you just speak plainly?" As if. I shot her a sceptical look and she got the message instantly. She frowned. "Fine then." She said. "But what about all the rumours?"

I stopped walking, looking at her with a patronising smile. "Jess, don't tell me you're one of those pathetic _gossipy_ girls?" I said. "They're so… sad, really. It's as though they have nothing better to do than bitch about everybody else, make things up…"

"Oh, and you think that's _sad_, do you?"

I sniffed regally. "I think it's _common_." I said, before shooting my friends a wink. "I don't have the time or the stupidity to spend even a minute discussing _rumours_."

There was a pause, and then Jess clicked her tongue. "Oh, _I_ get it." She said, and then adopted a serious expression. "I know _exactly_ what you mean." She said in a totally different tone. "I never listen to rumours."

"Neither do I." Carmeline chimed in. "They're for the small minded. I haven't heard anything."

I grinned at them both. "Clearly, we just have better things to talk about." I suggested, and then, taking a deep breath, we stepped as one into the Great Hall. Now the game would truly begin, and it begun with my seating choice.

Draco was, as per usual, sitting with Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy down at the far end of the table. Usually, his group would be the first place I would head, but today I had bigger fish to fry. To be frank, although Draco seemed to be at the top of most people's 'most feared' list, his influence had diminished slightly as the year had progressed. He had been pulling back from society, and in return it had begun to lock him out. Sitting with him wouldn't _damage_ my reputation, obviously, but it was hardly a great leap forwards.

No, I considered, watching him, that wasn't the place to begin. I needed somebody with status, somebody who would be cautious enough not to write me off straight away and reckless enough to take a chance on me.

I needed…. "Faustin." I smiled, taking the seat opposite my favourite Russian Slytherin. "I feel like we haven't spoken in forever."

Faustin shot me an unimpressed look, but didn't make any move to shoo me away despite the chorus of whispering which had started up the second my butt hit the bench. "I don't think we've spoken at all." He said plainly. "Ever."

He was probably right about that. Faustin and I _loved_ to flirt, and we did it well and often. But we'd never actually spoken seriously. In fact, his reaction made it pretty clear that he wasn't interested in talking to me if I wasn't sitting on his lap or shooting him coquettish glances. But then, we had to start somewhere, and Faustin was the perfect candidate for me to get onside first. His family was well-respected not only in Slytherin, but the whole Wizarding community. My smile was bright and charming. "Well, then that's a lot of catching up to do. How have you been?"

He gave me a considering look, as though he was assessing me, before returning to his pancakes. "I like your front, Dahlquist." He said smoothly. "It will get you far, which, considering your present place in the social hierarchy, means that if you work hard you might actually be respectable in ten years' time."

Jess and Carmeline, who'd been hovering behind me, melted away at his words, which had been just slightly to vivid a reminder of my current lack of standing. They murmured a quick, "see you later, Elle!" Before disappearing into the crowd. I ignored them, turning back to Faustin.

"I'm working on a tighter schedule than that, unfortunately." I told him with a wink, not taking my eyes off of him. "I was hoping for perhaps two days."

"Well, you _are_ a busy girl." He drawled patronisingly. "So why then are you wasting your precious time talking to _me_?"

I smirked. "Well, I wouldn't say _wasting_." I said nonchalantly, picking up an apple and shooting a smile at a nearby crowd of whispering third years. "There's definite purpose here."

Faustin wasn't one to muck around. He wanted me out of his hair, that much was clear. I wasn't leaving til I'd gotten what I wanted – that much was _also_ clear. "I'm happy to acknowledge you, _and_ I don't believe the rumours." He said, throwing out a first offer. "Now will you allow me to eat my breakfast in peace? I've only ever tolerated you for your wonderful posterior, and I can't see it from this angle."

I smiled at him. "You see no reason _not_ to acknowledge me." I countered. "And you haven't _heard_ any rumours."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's an optimistic end game." He said. "You're denying that you slept with Zabini outright? Denying the rumours?"

My shrug was as cool as could be. "Don't be silly – that would never work." Faustin nodded in agreement as I continued. "I'm mostly just going to… refuse to acknowledge them. A little bit."

He looked sceptical. "Refusing to acknowledge them a little bit?" He repeated. "How does one _slightly_ refuse to acknowledge something?"

I smiled, leaning forwards. "How about you stick around and find out?" I suggested. Faustin looked just a bit intrigued and I considered my job done. Of course, counting your hippogriffs before they're hatched is _never_ a good idea. It invariably tempts fate just a little too much, prompting it to send little obstacles your way. In this case, it chose obstacles in the form of a bevy of sixteen year old twits.

"So, Blaise escaped your clutches and you went after poor Aleks?" Tracy Davis trilled as she slid onto the bench beside me. "You _do_ move fast." The posse of pretty girls who always seemed to float around Tracy and Daphne tittered excitedly.

"Good morning, ladies." I said, trying to sound bored but pleasant. I wasn't sure when they'd arrived. Perhaps they'd seen me approach Aleks, perhaps they'd just entered the hall mere seconds ago. Either way, it hardly mattered. They were here, which meant that they were going to annoy me.

Daphne looked thrilled. "Avoiding the question, are you?" She grinned maliciously. I raised an eyebrow and she continued with a look of absolute exasperation on her face. "Are you chasing Aleks now that Blaise has gotten away, and in such a _public_ fashion, too."

"Oh." I schooled my face into an expression of complete martyrdom. "Don't tell me people are _still_ talking about that?" I shot a quick glance at Faustin, wondering if he'd be any help in this situation.

Clearly catching on to what I was trying to do, Daphne pursed her lips. "I'm afraid so." She said sweetly. "And they will be talking about it for a _long_ time."

"Talking about what?" A knight in shining school robes, Faustin come to my rescue. He was looking up at Daphne as though fairly bored and confused. He'd caught on – he'd realised that my basic strategy was to make the rumours _insignificant_. And the best way to do that was to make sure that the major players _didn't care_. For instance, Faustin was doing an excellent job of 'not caring' as he pretended he had no idea what they were talking about.

Daphne looked at least twice as confused as he did. "You _know_ what, Faustin." She said. "You were in the common room when Blaise _said_ it…"

Basic self-preservation and an in-built avoidance of all confrontation meant that Daphne was reluctant to repeat the rumours she was so fond of referring to. It would reflect badly on her, make us look like we were fighting, and give people ammunition to use against her if I _did_ miraculously manage to turn things around.

Faustin looked up at Daphne innocently. "I didn't hear Zabini say a thing." He said. "But then, I never listen to him, anyway." Nobody said anything for a moment, and into the silence, Faustin prompted. "What did Zabini say, Greengrass?"

Daphne ignored him, instead shooting me daggers. "This tactic only works in the short run." She told me confidently. And why shouldn't she be confident? She was, after all, completely correct. But she also could say very little beyond what she'd already said. So with her nose thrust primly in the air, she turned her back on me and I resumed my conversation with Faustin.

"Anyway, as I was saying…" I began, and Faustin rolled his eyes.

"Have I not done enough today?" He asked tiredly. "Have I not been _helpful_."

"You have." I conceded without a moment's consideration. "You've been remarkably helpful, actually." My eyes were drawn to the group of boys leering at me and whispering amongst themselves. "Considering that perhaps 90% of the Slytherins despise me right now." My eyes found their way back to Faustin's own. "Why is that?"

He frowned. "You _asked_ me to be helpful." He pointed out.

"I did. Why are you? I thought this would be a little more difficult." I had, too. So far, Faustin had been _remarkably_ accommodating. My eyes narrowed in distrust.

His shrug was fairly relaxed, considering the look of vengeful suspicion I was shooting at him. "Your grandmother." He said eventually. "Maternal grandmother, that is, was Russian."

I raised an eyebrow. "Good for her."

"I am also Russian." Faustin continued.

I shook my head slowly in confusion. "And I'm French."

He sighed. "Look, Dahlquist, my grandfather and _your_ grandmother were friends."

Ah. _Legacy_. The loyalty we inherited from the alliances forged by our ancestors. "Of _course_ they were." I said with a wry smile. "Lovely. I'll have to look up other family connections to get through this mess."

His expression was deadpan as he intoned. "I thought you weren't admitting that there _was_ a mess."

That was true. "No, you're right. I wasn't, was I?" I sighed. "You know, I don't speak any Russian."

Faustin regarded me carefully. "Zvezda." He said eventually. At the expression on my face, he rolled his eyes and elaborated. "It means 'star'. I'm _teaching_ you."

I understood. "Like 'Estelle'. Lovely." He shrugged as though to say 'yes I _know_ it is'. There was a moment of silence, during which a group of sixth years walked past, giving me dirty looks. We both ignored them. Eventually, and mostly to distract from the whispers that were starting up around us, I said, "you couldn't teach me anything useful, could you? Perhaps some swearwords…?"

He looked unimpressed. "Do you want to leave first, or should I?"

Back to business it was. It filled me with joy to know that he was strategizing just as constantly as I was, and understood how little things like 'leaving' could be significant. With a smile, I got to my feet. "I will. That way it doesn't look like you ran off in disgust. Besides… I have to speak to Draco." But he wasn't listening anymore. It didn't matter to me, I thought, smiling at him affectionately. "I think," I said, "that for our first conversation, this was pretty good."

He glanced up at me, a small smile on his face. "It was more interesting than most." He drawled. "Although I think I prefer oNow go away, Zvezda, and leave me in peace."

I did, moving quickly along to Draco's end of the table, greeting everybody with either a smile or a nod (depending on their social ranking) as I passed them. Few of them were welcomed, but I have always had the ability to make my smile infectious enough that people return it without thinking – a trait I like to think I inherited from my father. So, although people tried to resist, I did catch enough students unaware that I didn't appear a total pariah as I went over to sit by Draco. I smiled to myself as I watched a sixth year girl chastise her friend for smiling at me – little by little, I could get them back.

Draco barely glanced up at me as I sat down beside him. "Well you're looking better." He said casually but _very_ quietly. "Honestly, I'm frightfully glad to see that you've changed your hair back. And that you've finally decided to take some action against these rumours."

I smiled brightly at him. "Did you see?" I asked proudly. "Did you see what I caught?"

Still not having looked up from the paper, Draco sighed. "Yes. Nicely done. Faustin has quite a reputation for having good taste. His friends are at the most society's darlings, and at the least society's pets."

I frowned. "I'm aiming for the 'darling' option." I told him.

He ignored me. "Also, Blaise will be rather furious."

That hadn't occurred to me. "Well, I don't have anything against Blaise – I wouldn't want him to be furious." I said sweetly for the benefit of those eavesdropping on us. "But… say I _did_, would you perhaps explain _why_?"

Draco looked up at me. "He _hates_ Faustin – you know that. Sees him as a rival."

For a moment, the world froze. "He _does_, doesn't he?" I whispered, more to myself than anybody else, as an evil smile spread its way across my face. "Truly hates him." I'd decided to salvage my reputation as a Dahlquist as a priority, but apparently I could kill two birds with one stone and begin my revenge on Blaise at the very same time. There was nothing he hated more than to see something he'd thought was _his_ in the hands of somebody else. In that respect he was much like a little boy who hated the other children touching his toys.

Draco watched me for a moment before sighing again. "Wipe that expression off of your face – you look utterly demonic, and that won't endear you to _anyone_."

He was right. I rearranged my features. "Don't laugh, Drake, but I hadn't thought of that." I said softly, unable to keep the malicious glint out of my eyes.

His mouth curved into a little smile. "Well _now_ you have." He said evilly. "Incidentally, this came for you." He passed me a letter. "It's from mother. She's lining up suitors."

I frowned. "I thought we'd decided _against_ that." I said, annoyed.

"We _had_, but considering recent developments, perhaps you'll reconsider." Draco said darkly. He was still holding the letter out to me, and with great reluctance, I took it.

My eyes scanned over the neat, sloping writing briefly, taking in the lack of pleasantries so typical of Narcissa's letters before picking out a number of names. "She's approaching the Puceys?" I asked. "Really?"

"She is _considering_ it." Draco corrected. "Nothing's actually been settled – now destroy that before somebody sees it. It makes us look grasping and pathetic"

I rolled my eyes and pressed the tip of my wand up against the paper, watching as it caught alight from my spell and shrivelled up in the flames. "I'm glad you're in this with me, Draco." I said quietly, not meeting his eyes. "It's important to me."

There was a short pause. "Yes, well." He sighed. "I welcome the distraction." At that, his eyes darkened and his jaw tightened as though he were thinking of something painful, and I was forced back into reality. Honestly, I'd been riding the entire morning out on an adrenalin rush – it had been a game to me. I'd dressed myself up to look pretty, and met with success after success. And Draco had been so _normal_… between that, my lack of commitment to Blaise and my hair, I felt like I had last year.

But it _wasn't_ last year. It was _this_ year, and everything was one hundred times harder. I forced my mind out of its flippant state and into 'strictly business' mode. As though aware of this inner resolution, Draco had switched back to being quite strategic. "Anyway, Faustin _is_ a good one to have on your side, but you'll need more."

I frowned sharply. "I _know_ that, thanks." I sniffed. Although I'd come to the same conclusion myself, I was still annoyed at him for pointing it out. "But for now, how about we consider the progress we've made?"

"No time." He said quite bluntly. "When there's still so much to do. You shouldn't ever stop, when you've got a job." I wasn't sure when, exactly, but his speech had turned from a pep-talk into a diatribe. His face was flushed and his hands were clenched into fists, and while he wouldn't meet my eyes his voice was full of barely contained anger. "You have to keep at it til it's finished. It's just _weak_ to stop – you don't get anywhere by taking breaks or by – by patting yourself on the back. You have to keep _going_, have to keep _trying_, take _precautions_."

Taken aback by his outburst, but unwilling to touch on whatever had prompted it, I went for flippancy. I raised my eyebrows. "I _am_." I told him. "I'm going to approach Pucey next – I already know he's on my side, I just need him to convince the others."

Draco took a deep breath and gradually the red that had seeped into his neck and cheeks as he'd ranted began to subside. "You need girls." He said, and just like that he was calm again. "Not just boys on your side – that'll just make the girls hate you more."

"I have Jess and Carmeline." I told him. "Daphne and Tracy hate me, though."

"They're your problem." Draco said. "Who else have you considered winning over?"

Honestly? "Wilhelmina will be tough…" I began weakly.

"I don't even know who 'Wilhelmina' is." Draco said harshly, and our little discussion had turned from companionable to hostile. "What about somebody who actually _matters_?"

I felt my anger flare up. Still smiling sweetly, I said through gritted teeth. "Well, Draco, lately you've hardly been one to talk to about people who _matter_."

As always happened when he was upset, his face paled but the skin around his eyebrows turned a little blotchy and red. "I'm well respected." He told me, his voice a thin, cold whisper. "_Very_ well respected."

Annoyed now, I stood coolly, looking down at him with more than a little disgust. "You're delusional." I said, mimicking his tone. "_Very_ delusional." And then I turned on my heel, flipping my hair over my shoulder. Trying to keep up the appearance of being cool and collected and _charming_, I waved cheerfully at Cleevebridge and stopped to say a quick 'hello' to Pucey. But that didn't cheer me up. As scores of girls shot me angry glares I realised that Draco was 100% correct – befriending all these boys didn't exactly endear me to the Slytherin girls. And with a reputation as a clingy, needy, boy-obsessed, fortune-hunting ( considering my recent poverty) girl, I needed to stop being so 'friendly' with these eligible purebloods. It wouldn't help my case.

Slightly disheartened, I took my leave. I stopped to say goodbye to Jess and Carmeline, and made a big show of chatting to Wilhelmina as well, but I wasn't sure whether talking to three girls was enough to repair any possible damage I'd done by spending breakfast with some of the more popular boys in our house. I left fairly quickly after that.

In the interests of full disclosure, I didn't just leave because of the girls. I left because as I was chatting with Jess and Carmeline, I caught sight of a tall dark figure, leaning nonchalantly against the table as he revelled in the attention of an adoring crowd of both girls and boys.

It's sad and pathetic, I know, but I couldn't seem to face him. Even from a distance.

The second he came into sight, my heart started beating faster and I felt my cheeks flush with rage. No, I couldn't bear it and I _hated_ myself for that weakness.

Sitting outside the Great Hall with my hands wrapped around a mug of coffee I'd swiped from Carmeline, I descended into a spiral of self-loathing. My _father_ would never have been such a coward – neither would my mother, for that matter. No, the two of them would have faced Blaise easily – that was the very best way to appear unconcerned. By running I only fuelled the rumours that he'd destroyed me, that he'd used me and now I was a mess. What a pathetic fool I was to have run like that! Rebuilding one's reputation takes guts as well as strategy, and I was clearly lacking the first part of the equation.

Well, to be honest I wasn't doing too well in the second part, either, I reminded myself. I had failed miserably this morning. I'd probably alienated every single Slytherin girl in there, and they were the ones perpetuating the stupid gossip! They were the ones who schemed, who worked to destroy people. And I'd made myself seem like a floozy trying to entrap their future husbands. I'd failed… I'd made sure there wasn't a single, respectable Slytherin girl who'd ever take my side…

"Dahlquist?" I glanced up to see sixth year Desdemona Kaul standing before me with a slightly self-deprecating smile on her pretty face.

Confused, I raised an eyebrow, pulling myself together as quickly as possible. "Kaul." I greeted her warily, and then, keeping in mind my newly found 'charm', I smiled, "how are things?"

She gave a delicate snort. "You mean for the past sixteen years?" She asked pointedly, fingering her green and silver tie. "I don't know you."

So clearly she wasn't here for a chat. That meant that she probably wanted something, and judging from her expression, she wasn't very comfortable. Uncomfortable people generally appreciate straight talking, to avoid prolonging the awkwardness. With lightning speed, I analysed her motives and acted accordingly – I would be blunt, but not rude. I leaned forwards, resting my chin on my palm, "Yes, but apparently you know _of_ me." I told her. "How can I help you?" She looked almost affronted at my forwardness, and I gave her a polite smile. "If we're dispensing with civilities, we may as well get straight to it."

There was a pause before she gave me a nod and a much warmer smile. Internally I cheered at having gauged her so correctly. "I just wanted to tell you that… that I _do_ admire what you're doing." It took supreme self-control not to react. No wonder she was uncomfortable – it was practically taboo to admit that you _admired_ somebody – it was like saying they were _better_ than you. With a grimace, she continued. "Zabini can be… quite _cruel_. I think it's high time he was beaten at his own game."

I was momentarily at a loss, before a long-ago conversation came to mind. I remembered standing on the platform at the train station last year, remembered Pansy approaching me…

_"Draco is looking for you." She told me primly. Then her smile turned into a smirk. "So is Blaise."_

_I rolled my eyes. "He is not." I said, dismissively. "Parkinson, I saw you pull this same trick on poor Desdemona. Only she fell for it, approached him in the great hall, and was spectacularly rejected."_

"Of course you do." I murmured quietly, the corner of my mouth turning up slightly. What is that old saying? Hell hath no fury like a Slytherin scorned?

She frowned. "Yes, well. I'm glad you're fighting against those rumours he started."

Instantly on the alert, I looked up at her. "Rumours?" I asked, keeping my tone light even as I met her eyes significantly. "I haven't actually heard any rumours… not any _credible_ ones, anyway. Just lots of _stupid_ ones that nobody would ever pay any attention to."

Desdemona Kaul's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Then, she smiled. "Oh, I haven't heard anything at all." She said smoothly, grinning openly now. "Gossip is very much the sort of things that _plebs_ do. Not for the upper class at all." With one last grin, she turned on her heel, walking away from me. At the last moment before she reached her friends, she turned to look back at me over one shoulder. "I haven't heard a _thing_." She said, loud enough for those surrounding us to hear. "And neither have any of my friends."

As they walked away, probably besieging Desdemona with questions, I smiled to myself.

"Just you wait, Blaise." I murmured. "Just you _wait_."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx

A/N: Hello to everybody! So there is the next chapter - sorry about the wait, but I was completely swamped with assignments and they had to take priority :(

As always, thanks to my reviewers: **Katchile94**, **TheAgentofFire**, **kaitie**, **quaquaquaqua **and the mysterious **guest.**  
Thanks to you all for the nice things you've said! Keep it up, the more reviews the faster I tend to write (no emotional blackmail intended)

I hope you're all satisfied with Estelle's first attempts to fight back. Don't worry - she's just going to get angrier. For now it's just laying the groundwork. I purposefully kept Blaise out of this chapter, but he'll be back next time around (there will be an actual confrontation). Also in the next chapter is the fateful Hogsmeade visit where Katie Bell almost dies... So watch this space.

**Katchile94** – Glad you're liking the story! In regards to your question about Sirius... I probably didn't make it clear enough, but in a way that is the intention. Estelle doesn't know why Sirius didn't leave her anything, and because this is from her point of view that means that nobody knows for sure. Different characters put forwards different opinions, though. Which is why Dumbledore suggests:

_"perhaps he wanted a different life for you than the one he had_"  
And Harry:  
_ "I think that he left it to me because he didn't want you to have any part in his family." He told me. "Sirius ran away from them as soon as he could. I think it made him angry to think that after he spent so long avoiding them, you ended up right back in their clutches."_

So the general consensus is that Sirius did _not_ want Estelle to be part of his world.

In his defense, he knew that she would inherit the Dahlquist name and fortune when she turned 17 (being fairly familiar with pureblood traditions) and had no reason to suspect any involvement on Lazzare's part to hamper her inheritance.


	6. Chapter 6

The day of the Hogsmeade weekend dawned bright and early and bloody freezing. We woke up (as Slytherins always did in cold weather) chilled by the weight of the near freezing lake which our dorms were beneath. On the panes of magically enhanced glass between us and the water, there were little patches of ice forming. Other than that, though, it was completely unremarkable. We all got ready in relative silence, and neither Wilhelmina or Prudence said a word to me, either deprecating or civil. It didn't bother me. I was ready for the day, which I knew would be my next big challenge.

I'd gone (fairly obviously) for a 'fresh face', innocent, 'would never ever sleep with the school playboy' sort of look, leaving my hair in its natural ringlets and keeping my makeup subtly. But as I stared at my sickeningly wholesome reflection (surely I could mess my hair up a _little_? It was too near, right?) I couldn't resist smearing on some red lipgloss. My outfit was going to be more of an issue. I'd promised Draco that I'd wear robes, but the warm, green winter robes Narcissa had sent me were so difficult to move around in. They fell all the way to the floor, and were thick as felt. It was, I reasoned, only necessary that I make some 'alterations'.

"Dear _Merlin_, now what have you done?" I heard Carmeline exclaim as she caught sight of the material I'd cut off the bottom of the robes. "those were _nice_, Estelle!"

"And now they're practical." I informed her happily, spinning around in my new creation. I'd used my favourite spell to lop off the robes until they fell at mid thigh, added on a little black trim, and some pockets to be practical. I'd left the sleeves long enough to cover my hands, and kept the neckline as it was, but the changes made it _much_ easier to walk.

Jess looked over my oufit sceptically, her eyes travelling over the woollen tights and high boots I'd put on to compensate for the shortness of my robes. "You're going to freeze." She informed me, clearly feeling superior in her sensible jeans/jumper/jacket combination.

I shot her a wink. "But I'll look fabulous while doing it."

"Yes. A _fabulous _corpse." She folded her arms. "Hypothermia is a real problem, you know. Your lips will turn blue."

"And _that_'s why I'm wearing lipgloss." I told her sweetly, rifling through my clothes. "Could I borrow your black jacket?" I asked, flinging my clothes all over my bed. "I don't have anything near warm enough."

"So wear _jeans_." Carmeline chimed in. "Or normal robes, like a _sensible_ person."

I straightened, turning to face my friends. "I have _never_ been sensible." I reminded them, wrapping a huge woollen scarf around my neck and pulling on some gloves.

Defeated, Carmeline uttered a long-suffering sigh and plucked a black jacket out of my pile of clothes. "Here." She said. "This matches."

I grinned, not bothering to look at it as I jammed a beret down over my curls. "Wonderful! So let's go."

As we trooped to the entrance, my friends gave a collective groan at the sight of Filch standing there, jabbing secrecy sensors at everybody. "Well, this should be fun." Cleevebridge said morosely. He'd caught up with us at the dungeon entrance and was tagging happily along – the most cheerful third-wheel the world had ever known. "Being Slytherins, everybody is _always_ willing to give us the benefit of the doubt."

A few other Slytherins gave tired smiles at this obviously sarcastic statement, but Jess was unimpressed. "Perhaps if you stopped calling Filch a 'sad old squib' he'd stop being so mean to you!" She paused. "And by extension, us."

"He's not going to ever stop being mean." I told her bluntly. "The poor man never went to Hogwarts until he got a job here as a glorified _janitor_. He must hate all students – _especially_ the purebloods."

"I said _so_ mean." Jess pointed out. "Merlin knows the man's an absolute bitter old prune and will forever be a _little_ mean." Reluctantly, we stepped up to the queue, Cleevebridge grimacing like a baby. "Oh, man up, Marcus!" Jess snapped, clearly in a bad mood. "Even the Hufflepuffs weren't being as pathetic about this as you seem to be!" He glared at her, but rearranged his features into a more neutral expression.

Bored of the lot of them, I glanced over the grounds, now covered by a thick blanket of snow. I loved winter – more than any other season. Snow always had the ability to cover things completely, to hide all imperfections and ugly things under a smooth, cool, pure coating. With a grin, I wondered whether it was a metaphor for my current attempt to 'cool' my way out of the rumours and bury them under a blanket of clean new beginnings.

"Nice robes." I turned to see Marcus grinning at me mischievously. "I think you left the bottom part behind, though."

I shot him a grin. "Bite me, Cleevebridge."

"Gladly." He said cheekily, stepping up and trying to grab my hand. If only he'd been paying more attention to our place in the line.

"Enough!" Filch snarled, and Marcus threw his hands up innocently, stepping back into line with exaggerated fear. "You brats…" he muttered as Marcus made a mock-affronted face. "Get over here." Rolling his eyes, Marcus skipped up to Filch, obligingly putting his hands out in front of him.

"Best check my pockets there, squib." He said. "That's where I'm stashing my collection of dark artefacts. Plus my correspondence – me and the Dark Lord? We're _tight_ – penpals, you know?" Annoyed. Filch hissed and jabbed the sensor at Marcus' stomach, perhaps more viciously than was needed. On the other side of the line, Jess and Carmeline shared an amused smile and quietly applauded as Marcus, wincing a little, jogged over to join them. Filch watched him run off with a powerful scowl, before turning it onto me.

"And you!" he snarled as I reluctantly stepped forwards. "Nothing but _trouble_. Just like your parents."

I smiled sweetly. "Not _quite_ like them, I don't think." I told him. "Perhaps a _little_ bit the same."

Filch's eyes narrowed. "_Exactly_ the same." He said quite viciously, waving the secrecy sensor around. I diligently kept my arms raised and a neutral expression on my face, allowing him to 'work' with no interruptions.

When he'd finally finished, with a less-than-good-natured "pah!" I ran to join my friends as well. They were waiting (every bit as less-than-good-naturedly) exactly where I'd left them, looking particularly unimpressed with whatever story Marcus was attempting to entertain them with.

"… and she said 'that? That's _nothing_ – I thought it would be a little bigger. It'll be like having nothing in there at all…"

I raised an eyebrow suggestively. "What was that, Marcus?" I asked drily. "you thought _what_ would be bigger?"

Jess scoffed. "You're _so_ immature, Estelle." She said. We headed across the grounds, joking and laughing amongst ourselves (in the restrained, vaguely snobby way that _all_ Slytherins joke and laugh) eventually catching up to a group of seventh year Slytherins, who'd been strolling along in their devil-may-care sort of way. We overtook them quite easily, but as we did, Marcus caught the eye of a tall dark haired boy, strolling along with a rather pudgy (though pretty) girl with dark blonde hair.

Marcus nodded his head to them. "Hey, Elias." He said to the dark haired boy before turning to the girl. "Larissa."

Elias responded with a cool nod and then glanced quickly away, as though Marcus' face was offensive to him. I had a feeling, probably based on the days of humiliation I'd endured, that it was _my_ presence that was offending Elias. But Larissa was more pointed. "Cleevebridge." She said, and then, "Osyth, Burke." Her eyes fell next onto me, and they were full of disgust. "I don't know _what_ to call _you_. They say you're _probably_ a Black, and I know you're not a Dahlquist anymore. And you were _aiming_ to be a Zabini, but dear Blaise came to his senses. So what would you like?"

I was stunned. After days of success, I was unprepared for this angry onslaught. But how could I have nothing to say? _Me_? I _always_ had something to say, and yet there I was, silent and useless. Slowly, I returned to my usual line of defence. Tossing my hair, I sighed. "Not _you_?" I said carefully. "I never would have thought those imbecilic rumours would have hit the seventh years."

Larissa blinked. "_Rumours_?" She asked, smiling in amusement. "_That's_ what you're going with? _Rumours_?"

Of course some people wouldn't accept my strategy. It was only really useful when I was talking to sympathisers – people who were on my side but couldn't admit it without a semi-plausible reason not to shun me like the rest. They accepted the idea that everything that had been said was malicious gossip because it gave them leave to support me with less risk. But people who hated me already? I had no chance with them, and this (my first such confrontation) was a perfect example of that. I had no idea what to say.

But they'd lost interest in me, anyway. Elias glanced over at Marcus, his brow furrowed in disapproval. "And you, cousin." He said. I hadn't even realised they were related. "This is the company you keep? Rather _poor_ standards you have." Larissa giggled at this obvious allusion to my lack of title and funds.

A part of me really believed that Marcus would desert me then, but he didn't. Instead he gave a nonchalant shrug. 'Well, Elias." He said, sounding much more posh than usual. "I'm inheriting the estate when Grandfather's gone, so unlike you I can have any friends that I like."

"You'll find it's those with no money who worry about wealth." I told them sweetly, finally finding my tongue. "Those with _class_ prefer quality."

"I have money _and_ class." Marcus continued for me (a sentence I would normally have scoffed at). "And I would always choose Estelle over some nouveau riche upstart whose father designed a new type of broom handle."

This display of loyalty was absolutely unwarranted and undeserved. I was _so_ pleased. Elias and Larissa, however, looked furious. From memory, Larissa's father (an halfblood who happened to be the CEO of a major broomstick company) had recently announced innovations to the Nimbus line of brooms. "Well, can't say there's too much evidence of _quality_ here." She said, rather pink in the face. "And she's a bad influence…"

Suddenly Elias looked rather sombre. "Yes, Marcus." He gripped his younger cousin's arm. "We heard you at the gates. That's why we're having this conversation at all."

It took me a moment to sift through my memories of Marcus' onslaught of snide comments at the gate until I found what I thought they might be referring to – his jokes about You Know Who.

"Not to annoy my friends?" Marcus drawled.

"You were lucky it was us." Larissa snapped. "If the wrong people heard you making jokes like that…"

"What? The aurors would come and get me?" Marcus shrugged.

Elias hissed in frustration. "It's not the _aurors_ you want to be worried about, cousin." He snapped. "You weren't making fun of _aurors_." Marcus paled, suddenly grasping what Elias was trying to tell him. Satisfied that he'd cowed his cousin into some form of shame, Elias nodded. "Good. You watch what you say – you never know who he's got listening."

Larissa was evidently bored of the whole thing. "Let's just _go_, Elias." She said. "I think he's got the message." With one last glare, Elias turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the whole lot of us stunned and a little scared.

We stood there considering the implications of what Elias had said for quite some time, and it became clear that as usual it would fall to _me_ to begin the conversation again. "Why is it that poorer cousins are always _so_ disagreeable?" I joked. "Lazzare was just the same. You'd think they'd focus on sucking up, getting on our good sides, instead of annoying us whenever they can."

"You're a poor cousin now." Jess said softly. "You tell us." It was only then that I realised that the girls were angry with me.

There was a slightly awkward silence before Carmeline tentatively asked. "So… are you friends with _any_ of the seventh years?"

"This really isn't an overnight job, alright, Carmeline?" I snapped before regaining control of my emotions. "Pending." Next to me, Marcus folded his arms and watched the discussion with far more intelligence in his eyes than I was comfortable with.

Jess scoffed. "I'm sorry – _pending_? Your friendship with the seventh years is _pending_?" When I nodded she gave a long-suffering sigh. "Pending _what_, Estelle?"

"Listen." I snapped, whirling around to face her. "I appreciate that siding with me took a leap of faith that was _not_ insignificant. I appreciate that you're worried about how this will affect your status and I _appreciate_ that this whole thing is difficult."

"Good." Jess snapped. "Because it _is_."

Taken aback, I blinked. "It hasn't been so far." I considered. "Except for, well, _that_." I jerked my head in the direction Elias and Larissa had just wandered off in.

"For _you_." Jess said. "But then nobody's _talking_ to you because you're just not quite _worth_ it."

I didn't say anything for a moment, just turned blankly to Marcus, of all people, a question written on my face.

He shrugged, back to his loutish self – no longer the self-possessed, snarky young man of moments before. "Come on, Dahlquist." He prompted with a smile. "I don't know why you're pretending you don't know what's going on." I still said nothing and he rolled his eyes. "If one of the other Slytherins got themselves caught up in a scandal this huge, would _you_ bother talking to them?"

No. No, I wouldn't. I wouldn't _stoop_ so low…

"_Merd_e_._" I said to myself. Perhaps it would have been easier if I'd just given up then, when I'd realised that everybody was just _humouring_ me, that I was too low to bother speaking to. But no, I'd never give up quite so easily and _certainly_ not because of Blaise. "Well. We might have to work a little harder."

"_You_ might." Jess corrected snottily. "_We_ do our bit by being on your side. The rest is you."

I sighed. "Fair enough." I told them, waving my hand dismissively. "_I_ have to work harder."

"You need more people on your side." Marcus said, and I didn't tell him to shut up out of gratitude for his earlier support. I wondered when exactly he'd become a part of this little team.

"Thanks, Cleevebridge." I drawled. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Ah, well." He grinned at me. "Don't worry about it – there's no need for you to be clever. You can be the pretty one."

Amused despite myself, I shoved him playfully, and he in turn threw an arm around my shoulders and gave me a friendly hug.

"Do be careful, Cleevebridge." I heard a lilting voice say from behind us. "Zabini just walked past and I _don't_ think he'd like to see you pawing his favourite squeeze."

I turned around to see Astoria Greengrass, smiling meanly at me.

"Oh, _happy_ day!" I said emphatically. "It's my _favourite_ little fourth year."

Astoria threw her nose into the air. "I'm not _little_." She insisted, but rather than storming off, she fell into step with us. "And _you_ should be nicer to me."

Still smiling, I rolled my eyes. "And why is _that_?"

Astoria shrugged, ruffling her caramel coloured hair so that it sat better under her hat. "Because." She said smugly. "I've just heard some _pretty_ scandalous rumours about you."

It took a fair amount of self-control not to stop walking and throttle her. "You have, have you?" I asked casually. "There _does_ seem to be a lot of that going around, lately. Really, you'd think there would be better things for everybody to talk about, wouldn't you?"

There was a long pause before Astoria said. "yes, you _would_." I almost keeled over in shock, and Marcus was amazed enough to drop his arm from around my shoulders. "I honestly _can't_ imagine why anybody would say something that's so _obviously_ not true."

Daphne Greengrass' perfect little sister? On _my_ side? Without even being _asked_? This was too bizarre for me to go along with. "What are you playing at, Astoria?" I said, my eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She frowned petulantly, as though upset that we'd broken character. But in a moment she'd reverted back into her role. "Anyway,_ I_ certainly won't be spreading any rumours, and I've told _all_ my friends the same thing. I simply _can't _be seen to be hanging around with gossip-mongers." There was a pause. "Really, you ought to be _nicer_ to me. So I don't change my mind."

I rolled my eyes. "There's no way you're missing the chance to take somebody down just so I'll be _nice_ to you." I pointed out drily. Astoria pouted like a child, and I sighed. "But, I won't question it – never look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, I always say."

Her eyes narrowed. "Keep saying it, Dahlquist." She told me. "I'm planning on being quite useful down the track, but I'd rather you let me do my thing _without_ trying to analyse me.""

I cocked my head to the side, regarding her thoughtfully. Astoria Greengrass – youngest of the Greengrass heiresses. Pretty, clever, wealthy and respected. _And_, I realised, continually overshadowed by her older, perfect sister. Her older perfect sister who _hated_ me – who had pitted against me in this fight. I had no siblings of my own, but I'd had enough experience with Draco to know how much fun it was to thwart his minor plans. It made sense that Astoria felt just as competitively towards Daphne, but I never would have guessed she'd go this far to annoy her sister. My lips curved into a speculative smile. "It's a deal." I said slowly.

Astoria sprung straight out of negotiation mode and right into prissy cow mode. She flipped her hair over one shoulder and smirked. "Well, I've clearly spent enough time hanging around with _you_." She announced in her most disinterested tone.

"It's _obscene_ how glad I am to hear you say that." I told her cheerfully, but she'd already strode purposefully off to meet her friends, who were happily chatting with a couple of Ravenclaws

As she left, I turned to Jess and Carmeline with a smile. "There." I said proudly. "A _girl_."

Jess raised an eyebrow. "What are you, the proud father?"

"I'm just glad you're being _open_ now." Carmeline said cheerfully. "I feel more involved now that we're a part of your scheming."

I rolled my eyes. "You're always part of my scheming."

"Yes. But now we're the players rather than the pawns." Jess said, demonstrating a previously well-hidden tendency to wax lyrical. "Though I don't know _why_ you included Cleevebridge."

Clearly unoffended by this 'vote of un-confidence', Marcus shot me a devil-may-care grin and was promptly distracted by a passing sixth year in incredibly fitted jeans.

"I _like_ Cleevebridge." Carmeline chimed in.

"So do I, but that doesn't make him _schemey_."

I ignored the lot of them, thinking through my current status in my head. I had a number of allies, the main players being Cleevebridge (nouveau riche, but heir to a large estate and with a father in the new Minister's inner circle), Jess and Carmeline (no money, but old, respected blood). I _also_ had a good number of 'sympathetic' parties, although not necessarily committed parties: Eliot Pucey (not exactly ready to defend me, but at least willing to acknowledge me _and_ from old blood), Astoria (younger sister, but from a major family, however undoubtedly with her own agenda), Desdemona (old family with a reputation for bearing grudges) and Faustin (utterly untrustworthy and fickle as anything).

In total that numbered three definite allies, all unfortunately in my own year level, with four sympathetic parties spanning three year levels. I had people on my side from the fourth year up, and anybody younger than third year was irrelevant anyway. But I needed _more_. That was where Astoria had opened my eyes. Because I had been looking at this entirely the wrong way. I'd been searching for allies who were _loyal_ to me, in a house of people all ultimately loyal only to themselves. I had to think of how people could benefit from being on my side. Perhaps people trying to usurp the current Slytherin royalty – lesser families or nouveau riche with a grudge against the older, but currently less politically significant families. If I couldn't make the most significant Slytherins of the moment switch to my side, I'd have to do my best to replace them.

"That's a thoughtful face." I blinked in surprise, turning to face Jess' curious gaze.

"I've trained myself to _always_ look thoughtful." I told her. "It gives me an air of mystery. But I was listening to everything you were saying."

"_Really_?" Her scepticism was close to offensive. "What were we talking about?"

I had no idea. Shrugging, I guessed. "Marcus was going through yet _another_ inane story about his holidays."

There was a long pause before Jess nodded slowly. "Alright." She said. "Maybe you _were_ listening." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "_Maybe_."

Her lack of trust in me was inspirational. As she slowly turned back to Marcus (who was indeed nattering on about some kind of scandal with his aunt), _I_ returned to _my_ thoughts. I needed _more_ people on my side, preferably people with social clout. After all, I couldn't really start a new 'it' group without at least a few staple figures from the current one. I _wanted_ Faustin. As I watched my friends joking amongst themselves the nearer we got to the Three Broomsticks, I considered how I could achieve that.

"This is where we're going, right?" Once again Jess had dragged me out of my reverie, just in time for us to reach the Three Broomsticks.

My mouth curved into a speculative smile. "Where else?" I asked quietly. Satisfied, Carmeline stepped between us, linking her arm through mine.

"Shall we?" She asked happily. She looked incredibly pretty, I thought as I watched her smiling at me. With cheeks reddened by the cold and her eyes bright and sparkling. I felt a wave of affection for her.

Not at all annoyed, Jess sighed and glanced over her shoulder at Marcus. "Go on, then." She prompted. "You were up to that bit where he dared you to swallow the pineapple."

Before Marcus could continue that apparently fascinating story, we were interrupted. "Look who it is." I heard a voice proclaim jovially. "Oi! Oi, love!"

Whoever was talking had the sort of voice that grated on the ears, but it _did_ seem familiar. I casually shot a glance behind me to see who it was. "Oh." I exclaimed, catching sight of the short, thin man standing out the front of the Three Broomsticks. "If it isn't… whatever your name was."

He stepped forwards, away from a dingy little table laden with goods which reminded me very much of the last stall I'd seen him at, back in Diagon Alley.

"Fancy seein' you 'ere." He said, tipping a moth-eaten top hat my way. "Mundungus, if you remember." Almost as one, Jess and Carmeline wrinkled their noses in disgust and stepped backwards.

I smiled. "I didn't, but thank you for reminding me." I said politely, turning to go inside.

"Where's that rich man o' yours?" Mundungus asked insistently. "I 'ave some other wares you might be interested in."

Of course. When I'd met this little con-artist I'd been with Blaise. Taking a deep breath so that I _wouldn't_ smash anything over poor, idiotic Mundungus' head, I shot him a bright smile. "Far away from here, I hope." I said. "When the plants start to die, and it starts raining fire that's a sure sign that he's approaching."

"What am I, the apocalypse?" I felt a hand rest briefly on my waist before disappearing again. It was a light, affectionate touch, but so quick that I wasn't entirely sure I hadn't imagined it.

Of course, from the look that passed over Jess' face, I realised that it would have been better if I had. "Zabini." She said slowly. "Here you are."

I could visualise his smile. "Here I am, Osyth." He repeated sardonically.

Wonderful. It was strange, I thought then, but I hadn't actually seen Blaise in days – not since he explained to me exactly where we stood. Not since he'd told everybody we were sleeping together. Not since I'd resolved to destroy him, bit by bit. The spike of rage that ran through me was enough to make me clench my fists, but I did my best not to stiffen. He was standing close enough to notice, and I didn't want him to realise how uncomfortable I was.

"Oh, a _Zabini_, is it?" Mundungus chimed in. "I _am_ in exalted company." He grinned at Blaise. "Lov'ly to see you again, and the missus."

The missus? I wanted to die. I didn't remember specifically, but saying we were married sounded like just the sort of idiotic thing I would do. Next to me, Jess met my eyes with a clearly exasperated expression. I had the distinct feeling that she would agree completely with my assessment of the situation.

"Happy to see me or my purse?" Blaise's voice came from behind me. _Close_ behind me. I wished he would move.

"Your _purse_, Zabini." I said sweetly. "That's all anybody would ever be happy to see."

There was a slight pause before Blaise said, quite loudly. "And yet you seemed so _happy_ to see certain parts of me the other night."

Really, it was just lucky that nobody was outside to hear it. Unable to think past the blind fury which had clouded my mind, I gave a vague 'harrumph', tossed my head and marched sharply towards the door to the pub, my friends following behind me.

No matter how angry I was, I couldn't quite bring myself to believe that Blaise was being this awful to spite me. He couldn't, right? The way he'd just behaved made me think more than ever that he thought this was a game – a fun little intrigue.

It wasn't. Not for me. "So." I said to Jess as we pushed at the door. "This _is_ shaping up to be quite an interesting afternoon.

We stepped into the Three Broomsticks, shucking off our coats and stamping the snow out of our boots. It wasn't until we were inside that I really realised how vicious the cold had been. The wind had been intense, and as the feeling slowly returned to my frozen face and fingers, I cursed Jess for being right – I should have dressed more warmly.

"Oh, but it _was_ cold, wasn't it?" Carmeline shook some snowflakes out of her hair, peering around the room for a free table. "Oh! Look, the sixth years have snagged a table to themselves – let's go!"

"We don't even know if we're invited." Jess pointed out almost rudely.

My eyes narrowed. "Oh, Jess." I said. "I'll never get _anywhere_ if I wait for invitations." With that, I wove through the crowded tables, already full of students talking and laughing.

Jess pushed in before me, tactfully easing the way. "Hey, everybody!" She trilled as Carmeline stepped up beside her, waving cheerfully at somebody. I took my cue from them, stepping forwards between them and shooting a bright smile around the table.

"Oh, look." Pansy said, her mouth twisting downwards. "It's _Estelle_."

I grinned at her. "Well spotted!" I said as Carmeline and Jess slid onto some free chairs. I was just about to join them (and, I noted, with no protest from the others) when somebody grabbed my arm.

"So keen to get away from me?" I heard Blaise's voice behind me. _Again_.

I turned around, keeping my expression neutral. "I'm not optimistic enough to imagine I could _ever_ get away from you." I said quietly, before spinning around and slipping between Jess and Carmeline at the table.

Blaise remained standing behind me for a few minutes, not saying or doing anything – just standing there quietly as though he were waiting for something to happen. But nothing was going to – I wasn't going to turn around to talk to him, and he wasn't going to sit next to me. I think now that it probably just _seemed_ like forever. Really, it wouldn't have been more than a few seconds. And then somebody called out to him, and Blaise went away.

Part of me wanted to break down and have a monumental tantrum right there and then, but the rest of me was strong enough to hold it together, turn around and jump into the conversation Jess was having with Eliot. Really, it was an impressive effort at nonchalance. The saddest thing about these sorts of schemes is that people can't appreciate the effort that goes into seeming like you don't care – if people can tell that you're just _pretending_ not to care, then you're doing a bad job. More than anything, right then, I wanted encouragement, some kind of pat on the back and assurance that I could _succeed_ at this crazy plan.

It's awful, but I honestly don't remember what happened after that. We talked, I suppose, for quite a while. A few other people came to sit with us, and Desdemona made a point of chatting to me for quite a while. The whole time I was aware of Blaise, like a shadow I could see out of the corner of my eye. I knew he was watching me, knew he was paying attention to everything I did, and everybody I talked to, but he said nothing. Not to me and not to anybody around me.

I'm not sure how much longer I continued like that – speaking on autopilot, being charming and talking without even processing what I was saying – before the jingle of the bell at the door jolted me out of my daze. I was nowhere near the door, but somehow the voice cut through the rest of the noise so clearly, and that's why I was paying attention when I heard Harry's voice angrily shout, "He was nicking Sirius' stuff."

My ears pricked up, and though I was halfway through telling Marcus' friend Royce an anecdote about my experience with the sorting hat I instinctively shifted my focus to Harry. After a little fumble in the flow of my story I kept talking, and nobody seemed to notice. But without meaning to, my eyes jumped up to Blaise. He wasn't looking at me, but for some reason I felt a pang of something akin to guilt when my gaze shifted subtly back to search for Harry.

What stuff? Who was nicking it? I wanted to ask him so badly. Was the stuff _his_? Or maybe… was it mine? Where did the thief take it from? But I could hardly ask. At that moment, I heard a murmur of protest and the squeal of a chair being pushed back, and suddenly Blaise was gone, probably heading off to chat up some snobby sixth year Ravenclaw. I hardly cared (sort of). As I made some half-hearted quip about Jess' decision to get a new haircut, my eyes searched the pub, scouring it as quickly and subtly as I could for Harry and his little friends. I caught sight of them almost immediately, settling in at a table conveniently opposite ours. As I watched him take a seat, my mind travelled back again to _what_ had happened and _how_ could I find out? Harry seemed so angry, completely unresponsive to Bushy Hair's attempts to placate him. I watched as he took a large gulp of his butterbeer before slamming it down on the table, completely oblivious to the froth still hanging off his upper lip like the world's worst moustache. The corners of my mouth turned up despite myself.

"What are _you_ grinning about?" Somebody asked.

I smiled easily in the vague direction of my friends. "I was just… enjoying your company." I told the group calmly, unsure which of them had spoken.

Royce laughed and raised his glass to me, and immediately my mind whirled, trying to remember what his family name was. Was he a connection to be coveted or discouraged? But I wasn't concentrating on him. Instead, I was looking at Harry again, just in time to see his eyes dart up to meet mine.

I _hate_ when that happens. It's always so embarrassing to be caught staring, and there's no dignified way out of it, either. If you just glance away, both parties know you're embarrassed, but if you maintain eye-contact you always seem hopelessly creepy. But then, I reasoned, Harry, who'd spent months last year following me around and asking me personal questions, could hardly think _I_ was creepy. I help his gaze. Although he was clearly put out about whatever had happened outside the pub, he grinned at me, and I smiled back.

When a hand fell on my shoulder, I resisted the urge to jump out of my seat, looking up as calmly as I could to meet Pansy's eyes. "Draco said I had to make sure that you got back to school _early_." She said with a grimace, as though speaking to me was causing her physical pain. "So we're leaving."

I sighed. "No, let's _stay_." It took a lot of strength not to look back at Harry – I was acting like a child in love! Pathetic! Besides, I reminded myself, I barely even _liked_ Harry. "Where are you going now, anyway?"

Pansy didn't answer me, just strode off as though I hadn't spoken, rolling her eyes as though I'd said something so stupid she didn't even want to acknowledge it. Annoyed, I looked back to Harry. He was laughing with his friends and for a moment I wondered if he'd forgotten about me, but then our eyes met once again. He nodded in Marcus' direction, one eyebrow raised almost suggestively, and I couldn't help but laugh. I shook my head sharply – _no_, I was not here with Marcus. Harry grinned a little, and nodded, as though to say 'good'. I rolled my eyes slightly at him, but he just continued to grin. I was filled with a sudden wave of regret that we weren't sitting together. Why were things always so difficult? Sadly, I lifted my mug of mulled wine in his direction – a toast to him, in which I hoped was conveyed as much companionship as I felt. Harry's smile was small and affectionate as he lifted his butterbeer in response. The moment was such an odd combination of solemn and ridiculous that I couldn't help but laugh – a small laugh, hardly audible over all the noise, but one which Harry seemed to appreciate. His eyes shone with what I really hoped was affection.

It was a sweet, simple moment, and I wished I had more like it.

But of course, nothing lasts forever, and as I pushed my hair back out of my face, my eyes snagged on a very different pair of eyes, shining with a very different emotion. Blaise. He was leaning against a pillar not far from where Harry was sitting with his friends. His eyes – as dark and inscrutable as ever – were fixed on my face. He'd been watching me the whole time. Spooked, but careful not to show it, I winked at Harry before shrugging goodbye and turning back to my friends. I _hoped_ he would understand. And I _hoped_ Blaise wouldn't read far too much into the situation and do something even more horrible.

I tuned back into my friends' conversation with as much interest as I could muster, which was seriously diminished when I realised that Marcus was once _again_ telling everybody about his holidays. For a long moment, I thought I'd gotten away with it. But then, I always did speak too soon.

"Move along, Burke." I stiffened at the sound of that voice. To her credit, Carmeline tried to hold her ground.

"I was here first, Zabini." She pointed out. "Go back to your seat."

I could _feel_ the smirk on Blaise's face. "I don't think so." He said. "I fancy a conversation with Estelle, if you don't mind."

Worried this would turn into a bigger scene than it already had, I cut in. "It's no problem, Carmeline." I assured her quietly. "I'm sure he just wants to catch up."

With a look of complete suspicion, Carmeline withdrew, picking up her pint of butterbeer and sliding off of the bench without once removing her eyes from Blaise. Her loyalty made my smile, and with that half-amused-half-affectionate expression on my face, I took another swig of my mulled wine.

"So." I didn't turn to face Blaise as I spoke. "How are things?"

He said nothing at all, and I couldn't resist a quick glance in his direction. Of course, the second I looked was the moment he'd turned around. We made eye-contact and I wanted to die of embarrassment. I wondered whether he would be ballsy enough to bring up my little moment with Harry _here_. In _public_. I didn't think it would benefit him in the slightest to be thought of as the man who was thrown over for _Potter_, but you never could tell what he was planning. Blaise held my gaze for far too long before he finally glanced away as he said, "nice jacket."

Too late I realised which jacket Carmeline had picked up for me – the leather one with the initials burned into its collar. The jacket I'd bought from Mundungus Fletcher in Diagon Alley. Or rather… the jacket Blaise had bought _for_ me. At the self-satisfied tone in his voice, I wanted to rip it off and stamp on it in front of him. But we had an audience, so I just smiled politely. "Thanks. I don't remember where I got it …" His smirk fell a little but I'd already turned to Marcus, who'd been conversing happily with Jess before my abrupt interruption. "Anyway, you were telling me that boring holiday story and I want to know the end."

Marcus frowned, admirably playing along. "The one with my aunt, or the one where somebody dared me to swallow a pineapple whole?"

I honestly couldn't remember. "Not sure, but finish it because I'm _dying_ of suspense."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "Are you ignoring me, Estelle?" Blaise said in a distinctly amused tone of voice. "Truly? Did I upset you somehow?" I'd known that Blaise would be casual with me. After all, even though he'd complained publicly that I was delusional and obsessed with him, he had also given everybody the impression that we were still 'sleeping together'.

I raised my eyebrows. "Upset? _Me_? No. Not even a little bit."

There was a slight pause, during which Blaise's eyes flicked over me consideringly. "Good." He said thoughtfully. "I dislike petty conflicts, and I dislike _placating_ people." I was surprised he'd spoken to me for so long. After destroying my reputation with his little diatribe, I'd assumed he would be either _slightly_ less civil or _slightly_ more suggestive. Outside, he'd given the impression that he was going to be suggestive – referring to our supposed 'trysts'. But now? Now he was acting much the same as he always did, and it unnerved me. And then, quite suddenly, his lips were against my ear, and he hissed to me. "I _saw_ that, by the way."

Suddenly furious, but careful not to show it, I firmly pushed him away. "Saw _what_?" I asked calmly. "Don't cause a scene."

Blaise made to answer again, but suddenly Pansy was standing between us. "Let's go." She said petulantly.

My gaze still locked with Blaise's, I answered absently, "I'm not ready yet."

Pansy scoffed. "Like I _care_." She said, folding her arms sulkily. And then she turned to Blaise. "Why are you even sitting here, Blaise?" She asked pointedly. "I thought you'd gotten all you needed from Estelle." Blaise said nothing, and neither did I. Pansy looked back to me. "Oh, so you're not going to deny sleeping with him this time?" She asked, but I wasn't paying her any attention.

I glanced up at Harry's table, only to see that it was empty. My eyes flashed to the door just in time to see the back of Bushy Hair's distinctive head as she left the pub. My mouth formed an involuntary frown – Blaise had distracted me and I hadn't noticed them leaving.

"Alright." I heard myself saying slowly. "Let's go. Now." I started to stand up, but suddenly Blaise's hand was on my arm.

"I don't _think_ so." He said coolly, meeting my gaze with stony eyes. It was immediately obvious that he'd seen me notice Harry's absence and wanted to make sure I couldn't go after him.

I resented being manhandled. As my eyes travelled down to where Blaise was gripping my arm, I wondered how I was going to get out of this situation without causing a scene, especially when I _really_ just wanted to punch Blaise in the face. But thankfully Pansy was so scandalised by the thought of Blaise actually _liking _me that she stepped up in my defence. "It is hardly up to _you_, Blaise." She said snootily. "She's _Draco_'s cousin and he wants her to leave early."

I resolved to be angry about _that_ later.

Blaise glanced up at Pansy, quite clearly weighing up whether it would be better to give in or argue the toss and cause a scene. Resentfully, he dropped my arm as though it disgusted him. "Fine, Parkinson." He said, his voice as calm and disdainful as ever. "I'll 'let go'." I was relieved to hear it – too soon. "But I'll take pleasure in the fact that I know that if you'd seen what _I_ just saw, you'd be just as reluctant to let her follow that blood traitor out of the pub."

Shit. My eyes met Blaise's, dark with fury. That _bastard_.

Blaise had long ago perfected the art of saying _just_ enough to make his chosen victims ask to know more. In that way, he was never responsible for what he said – he'd always just turn up his nose and announce 'well, you _asked_.' Pansy fell for it. Every. Time.

"Which blood traitor?" She asked, her voice full of anticipation, eyes shining excitedly.

Blaise met my gaze briefly, a malicious smile curving his lips, before turning back to Pansy…

And at that moment, I was saved by the bell.

The bell on the pub door, which rang violently as somebody barged into the Three Broomsticks. It was a seventh year I didn't recognise – a girl with messy hair and eyes brimming over with tears. "Oh _Merlin_!" She shouted. "I just saw _everything_!"

"Saw what, Margie?" Somebody called, and the girl took several deep breaths before booming out.

"Katie Bell just _died_!" And then she burst into tears.

"Alright then," I said quite callously. "_Literally_ saved by the Bell." I murmured to myself.

…..

We all returned to Hogwarts pretty promptly after that, and I was much saddened to see that the white snow I'd been admiring had turned into grey sludge - I hoped that wasn't a metaphor for my reputation. The walk back was panicked, and full of shouting and crying and hysterics, but by the time we all went to dinner, the mood had changed drastically.

The Hall was quieter than usual, with the usual hubbub of chatter being replaced by a low, steady thrum as all the students whispered rumours about what had happened. It sounded much like the buzzing of bees, but the subject matter was infinitely varied.

Some people said her friend had wanted a necklace Katie was wearing, gone insane and killed her for it. Somebody else told me that Katie's necklace was enchanted and strangled her. Somebody said that Katie was a Death Eater, and not dead at all. They said that the necklace was how the Dark Lord contacted her, and that on the walk back it had glowed and she had flown away. There were a hundred different versions, but they all had one common element – there was a necklace involved. Eventually, people seemed to agree that the necklace had been cursed.

As our resident source of information, Jess tracked down the real story in record time. At dinner, she plonked herself down next to me, took a bite of a bread roll and then said, "Vivienne Kane from third year was walking back to Hogwarts behind Bell." She said. "She told me that there _was_ a necklace, and the friends _were_ fighting over it, but that Bell's friend didn't want it for herself. She _also_ said that Potter told Bell's friend that the necklace was cursed." Jess paused. "This next bit is pretty big news." She warned us. "So keep it quiet." I smiled despite myself. The second Jess had sat down, all the fifth and sixth years had converged on her, and by now she had quite an audience. But it hardly mattered because everybody knew what she meant – for Slytherin ears only. "They say she was _imperiused_." There was a murmur of surprise from everybody, but Jess quietened us, raising one hand and announcing. "Vivienne overheard Bell saying that she was _delivering_ it. You all know what _that_ means, right?"

There was a hush, over which Daphne's voice whispered. "It wasn't meant to kill the Gryffindor with the bad hair." She said, and I resisted the urge to scoff. "It was meant to kill somebody else."

….

"It's probably one of us, you know." Marcus said. "I mean – she's _Gryffindor_. That necklace was meant to kill one of us."

We were all sitting in the common room, around the fire. Jess was curled up on one of the comfier chairs, with Carmeline perched on its arm rest. Marcus was closest to the fire, lying on his back with his hands behind his head, shunning all normal chairs in the vicinity. Wilhelmina and Prudence had arrived a little while before and were hovering awkwardly to one side. In light of the events of the day, I'd taken a break from my quest to appear respectable, and was sitting upside down on the couch, with my feet flung over the back of it.

Around us, other students were similarly uncaring about their dignity, some even wearing their pajamas as they whispered amongst themselves. All anybody was talking about was Katie Bell – nothing had changed since dinner, except that our entire house seemed to have shrunken back into itself. Everybody was quiet and sombre, as though expecting cursed necklaces to fly out of the woodwork and into their unsuspecting hands.

Really, I was amazed that my friends had resisted the urge to discuss it for so long before Marcus had brought it up. But all his comment achieved was to send the first years whispering by the coffee table into a state of quiet terror. At his words, their eyes widened with fear, and their lips quivered. I watched them with a detached sort of disappointment – nobody there who was worth paying attention to, it was fine to be afraid, but clever people didn't _show_ their fear. Perhaps they would grow out of it.

My uncharitable thoughts doubled when I realised that my friends were equally afraid, and only minimally better at hiding it. There was an odd, scared silence in the common room. When nobody else said it, I took it upon myself to be the logical one. "It _wasn't_ meant for one of us." I said with a sigh. My friends looked up at me, waiting. "They said she was imperiused." Everybody nodded.

Wilhelmina snapped her fingers, obviously having either a seizure or an epiphany. "Since when do Gryffindors use the unforgivables?" She asked, and there was a murmur of assent.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be silly." I told her. "Not _all_ Gryffindors are good. But they _are_ all brave. And getting a seventeen year old school girl to give your enemy a cursed necklace is _not_ a brave way to kill somebody."

Pucey had been lounging against a nearby chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "That's true." He said, joining in the debate with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. "It's got to be a Ravenclaw. Hufflepuffs couldn't think of this sort of thing."

I shrugged, pulling out a cigarette. "I don't think it's a student." I said.

"Neither do I." Pucey said, stretching. "You want my opinion?" He leaned forwards. "I think it was You Know Who." He whispered to us. "I think it was an assassination attempt."

Wilhelmina gasped. "That makes sense." She said. "That makes a_ lot_ of sense."

Pucey nodded, and I frowned thoughtfully. "It's true that he can't get into the school." I said slowly. "So this would be a way to do it. Who do you think he would be… aiming for?"

"We shouldn't be talking about this." Theo Nott said sharply from the other side of the room. "You don't ever know who's listening."

Ironically, it seemed that nobody cared enough to 'listen' to his advice. If anybody _was_ listening, it certainly didn't include our classmates.

"Could be Harry Potter." Somebody suggested. "That's the obvious one." My stomach gave a tiny swoop, but I took a drag and said nothing at all.

"I heard…" Carmeline leaned forwards conspiratorially. "I heard it was meant for Dumbledore."

There was a collective gasp, but I remained unmoved. "That necklace?" I asked sceptically. "Meant for Dumbledore? Where did you hear that?"

She looked a little defensive. "This Ravenclaw overheard Harry Potter's friend's little sister discussing it with Harry Potter's other friend. She said it was _murder_."

"Well that's just silly." I said drily. "It's not murder til somebody dies, is it?"

Everybody ignored me. "Do you think it's true?" Jess asked, clearly storing up the knowledge. There was a murmur of discussion as everybody talked over the possibilities. I felt thoroughly annoyed with them all.

"Frankly, whether it's true or not it's _still _the most ridiculous thing _I've_ ever heard." I said, hugging my knees to my chest.

Marcus frowned. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" He asked.

I shrugged. "Well, it's a stupid way to try and kill anybody, but to kill Dumbledore?" I shook my head in disbelief. "It's utterly ludicrous."

"We shouldn't be _talking_ about it." Theo insisted again. Again, nobody listened. "We could all be next!" A first year let out a short whimper, and there was a pause, but then conversation began again.

Jess opened her mouth to question me, but Draco beat her to the chase. "How so?" He asked in a low voice. He had been sitting with some of the other sixth years over by the other couches. Having spent the entire day in detention with Macgonnagal, Draco had missed out on the actual drama of the trip, but had been filled in on the details by every person he'd spoken to. But he hadn't spoken to me yet – I supposed he was still angry. But apparently that anger didn't outweigh his desire to know what I meant. I noticed that Pansy and Blaise had also fallen silent. I hadn't even realised they were listening to us, but they were all looking quite intently in our direction. "How is it _ludicrous_?"

Suddenly uncomfortable, I tried to gather my thoughts. "I don't know, Drake." I said. "It's just a stupid plan."

"How do you know that?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Because it _failed_, dumbass." I drawled, and somebody chuckled. In that moment, I realised that it was vital that I took charge here. This was a stellar opportunity – I had a willing audience, desperate to hear _anything_ to allay their fears, and a wealth of logical ways to do it. It was perfect for my purposes. "The old man is alive and kicking, by all standards." I swung my legs off of the couch and into a sitting position to demonstrate that I was taking the discussion seriously.

"Surely hiccups happen, though?" Draco suggested.

I shrugged. "Yes. Hiccups like having the idiotic idea of getting a seventeen year old _idiot_ to deliver a cursed necklace wrapped in a bit of butcher's paper to a famous wizard not known for his taste in jewellery." A nearby third year scoffed. "She was bound to touch it long and reveal the whole plan long before it got to Dumbledore."

"I think that's clever." Draco said. "The assassin was distancing himself from the crime."

"It's a good concept, but it was poorly executed." I told him. "And even ignoring that…" I couldn't help but grin. "Using a _necklace_ as a murder weapon? I mean, who tries to kill a brilliant wizard by giving him a cursed necklace as a gift? It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard… why would he even bother touching the thing – it's hardly his sort of present. He'd either be suspicious or bewildered, and he'd just end up giving it to somebody else, whether to keep or to check for curses." I grinned. "I bet he would have taken one look at it, rewrapped it and re-gifted it to Macgonnagal for Christmas." I smiled at my friends. "You must see how stupid the idea is."

The others murmured in agreement, but Draco stayed firm. "I don't think it's stupid." He said almost defensively. "I think it's _subtle. _Clever. Nobody would expect it."

I nodded slowly. "No, they wouldn't." I agreed. "Because it's _dumb_."

My friends laughed, and Draco looked annoyed. "I suppose it's easy for _you_ to go on about his ideas." He said petulantly. "It's easy to talk big."

My smile was fairly patronising. "I'm afraid it's all going to be talk with me in this area, Draco." I said drily. "I'm really not planning on assassinating the headmaster to prove a point."

Somebody laughed, and I realised that our little debate had gathered even more of an audience. Desdemona was lounging on the chairs with her friends and little Astoria's mob were crowded around the study tables. Even Elias and Larissa were there, arms around each other with Miranda Althorp sitting beside them like a stubborn third wheel. I suppose nobody really felt like being alone that night.

Oblivious to everybody, Draco continued. "And if you _were_ going to do more than talk?" He asked. "Any bright ideas?"

This was getting stupid now. I wanted to make everybody feel more secure, not start a childish debate with Draco. I sighed, annoyed. "Well, really. Why so much showmanship?" Draco raised an eyebrow, and I elaborated. "Bring back the good old days – a knife in the back, some poison in the wine… people don't have enough respect for the traditional methods these days."

I did such a good imitation of Professor Binns' droning, eternally grumpy, old-fart tone that the students watching us laughed openly.

"That would be _expected_." Draco said, seething.

It was only when I saw how angry Draco was that I realised he must have been embarrassed. I'd been so focussed on looking clever that I hadn't considered the fact that I was doing so at his expense. I wanted to finish the debate, but could I end this without making Draco look any worse? I sighed, standing. "I doubt it." I told him slowly. "Because, although this school has the absolute _worst _safety standards in existence, we rarely have _murders_ here. And," my eyes travelled around the room to include my fellow housemates, "_never_ of Slytherins. I don't know what happened today, but you know what? It doesn't apply to us. We're not involved because every last one of us knows to stay out of the fighting. So the Gryffindors can be brave, and the Hufflepuffs can be loyal, and the Ravenclaws can think themselves into a tizzy." I looked around at my housemates. "But _this_ house doesn't encourage grand gestures, or demand unconditional loyalty. This is a _sensible_ house, and we are people smart enough to stay away until we know which was the tide is turning. There'd be no point killing us – we haven't even picked a side."

There was a louder, more confident murmur of agreement, and I felt a surge of pride for having calmed my housemates. But as I met Draco's eyes across the sea of faces, any calm I'd felt disappeared. Because while most of us _were_ smart enough to steer clear of the fighting, while most of us were trying not to be involved, not all of us had succeeded. _Some_ of us had picked sides very quickly indeed – dangerous sides. And my cousin was one of them.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: There aren't really enough words to apologise for the crazy gap in my updates! If there are any students reading this – take pity on me! I've just come out of assessment periods at uni, and I've been smashing out essays and exam revision for the past couple of months. It's been hectic. Good news? I'm on holiday, and I promise to have the next chapter up ASAP (it's mostly written, anyway.)

Thanks to my reviewers (especially as many of you asked for updates and I am so late delivering) **0Goddess Nyx0** , **The Agent of Fire**,** katchile94** , **kaitie**,**Miss Suger Unicorn**, **daneel26** . Oh, and thanks to first time reviewers! Nice to hear from you and I hope to again. I love it when you guys let me know what you're liking/ what is worrying you. It keeps me focused. On that note, I'm glad you all liked Harry in the last chapter! And thank you for all the nice things you say about my writing.

I can assure all of you that I _will_ finish this! I like to finish what I start. And that I'm doing my best to stay true to all the characters. Unfortunately, with Harry that _does_ involve a fairly deontological view of the world (he seems to see things as fairly black and white, especially with the Slytherins – the whole world does) so there will be issues between him and Estelle about that. But not quite yet.

Next chapter involves more scheming, more fights, more of any characters you nominate (I'll fit them in), and a kiss.

(**daneel26**: the answer to all three of those questions is _yes_. She is a virgin – she's only ever really dated Blaise, and that was a little warped, and she was not yet sixteen. And considering the pureblood focus on, well, blood purity, I've included a societal emphasis on virginity for the upper class. They want to be sure that their heirs are 'pure'. That isn't to say that everybody is, really. There's a 'what happens in Hogwarts stays in Hogwarts' type ethos. She will kiss Harry – promise! And she will become a death eater… but wait and see. There's more to that then meets the eye).


	7. Chapter 7

In the end, it happened very suddenly.

It had been a good couple of days since the incident with the necklace, and the Slytherins were keeping their knowledge about it to themselves. Nobody seemed to know what had happened, but _we_ did, and we guarded the information closely.

Since that night, I hadn't seen Draco more than once, and then only in passing. He was a ghost in the common room – his stuff was always lying around, or his friends would be sitting in a semi-circle, leaving his usual space free, but Draco himself was never there. More and more frequently Crabbe and Goyle were also absent.

I didn't bother prying – I had more important things to worry about.

Starting with _it_, which happened, as I said, _suddenly_.

Just after another one of the Slug Club meetings.

It was, as ever, a dreary affair. Slughorn had been overjoyed when I'd begun attending in an effort to ingratiate myself with those he'd identified as the 'up and comers' of the wizarding world. I needed to broaden my horizons, accumulate allies _outside_ of Slytherin, and this was the perfect place to do so.

For this evening's festivities (a dinner party) I'd secured a particularly brilliant seat – opposite Cormac McLaggen (nephew of the Minister for Foreign Affairs) and beside Melinda Bobbin (heir to a chain of popular apothecaries). Bobbin's family wasn't distinguished but it _was_ wealthy, and wealth was influential, but it was McLaggen who was the real win. I needed connections in Government, and while Narcissa was trying her best to forge such connections, and take advantage of Lucius' old ones, the Malfoy name hardly inspired much loyalty after Lucius' arrest. I hadn't said anything to Draco or Narcissa, but these were connections I felt I should make myself. I needed somebody associated with the French Embassy to help me with my claim. Of course, Lazzarre knew most of the French officials and many of the English diplomats. For them to switch to my side would take some serious English support. I needed McLaggen to get me his uncle Tiberius.

Of course, my happiness was ruined when Blaise arrived (slightly late, of _course_) and took the free seat to my left. "Estelle." He said quietly.

"Hey, Blaise." I said noncommittally. We _weren't_ angry with each other, I _didn't _hate him. I repeated those sentences like a mantra in my head. We had been seeing each other _casually_, I _wasn't_ upset about the 'rumours'. Therefore, it was normal for us to have a conversation. "How are things?"

He wasn't looking at me, his dark eyes surveying the crowd with a distinct modicum of disdain. "We haven't spoken recently." He said quietly.

I blinked. "I _know_." I said. "That's why I asked."

"You _are_ angry." He said knowingly, and I laughed lightly.

"This isn't the place, Blaise." I told him. "And I'm _not_. Please, who understands the mechanics of scheming better than me? I would have done the same."

Blaise nodded slowly, and with one last smile in his direction I turned back to Bobbin, with whom I'd been having a hopelessly boring conversation about capitalism. We chatted amicably until Blaise, apparently annoyed that I was ignoring him, set his sights on her. All it took was one, coolly voiced, "how do you do" from him and she became a simpering mess. I, meanwhile, apparently ceased to exist for the pair of them. Diagonally across from me, Weaslette (sitting, as always, next to Bushy Hair) was watching the scene unfold with apparent glee at the position I'd been put in. I ignored her, shooting a smile at McLaggen, who happily reciprocated almost instantly (albeit by suggesting I try the peas). But the moment he attempted to engage me in real conversation, Blaise's arm came to rest possessively on the back of my chair, and he faltered. Blaise's message was fairly clear: _mine_.

He was absolutely sabotaging me – there was little doubt about it. I shot him a glare when I was sure the others weren't looking, only to find him listening to Melinda Bobbin's dull vacation stories. I scoffed disdainfully when she recounted a 'scandalous' incident where she'd gone swimming in the pool _after_ dark, and, hearing me, Blaise met my eyes briefly and gave me a fleeting grin and wink, both full of satisfaction. In that moment, I felt as though we were comrades again, both of us so disparaging of the world around us, and both of us inescapably a part of it. I hadn't realised how very much I missed our connection until that moment when he looked away, turning his attention back to Bobbin.

I, in turn, resumed my half conversation with McLaggen. "So." He said. "A _Dahlquist._" I felt a little like an animal in a zoo exhibition he was visiting. "Very impressive." I wasn't sure how to respond to that without coming off as snobby or a complete bitch, and I was trying _so _hard to make friends. So I resolved to say nothing at all, just shooting him a small smile and a nod. Apparently, though, that did just fine. His smile broadened. "You know me of course."

I gave a light, sarcastic chuckle. "Only by reputation." I said, and without looking away from Bobbin, Blaise smiled at the clear contempt in my voice.

McLaggen, though, failed to notice it. "Yes, I imagine you'd have heard of me. I suppose you know about that Doxy incident…" I smiled, and mimicked his facial expressions so that he thought I was paying attention, all the while my mind wandering far, far away. Were _all_ non-Slytherins this utterly dull? So unable to keep up a conversation? McLaggen wasn't aristocracy, but his family was extremely well-connected and I wanted him as an ally. Right then, however, it seemed that the price I was paying was far too high.

But then, suddenly, I heard a _question_ through the haze of hideously boastful stories about his inane escapades. "So." He was asking me. "I heard you've been involved in _quite_ the scandal." By my side, Blaise tensed a little, leaning oh-so-subtly towards McLaggen. Oblivious, McLaggen kept his gaze fixed on me, and I waited for him to humiliate me in front of all these potential allies. "You had your title removed, right?" He said, and I released a breath I hadn't realised I was holding. "A little birdie told me that your cousin had you disinherited, on the grounds that you 'weren't French enough'."

I smiled, so relieved I wanted to cry. He _hadn't_ mentioned Blaise – either he didn't know or care about _that_ scandal. And even better, he'd managed by some fluke to raise the very issue I wanted to discuss. Of course, it wouldn't do for him to know that. "Those weren't _quite_ the terms used." I told him, affecting embarrassment. "But essentially, yes, that's it."

McLaggen slammed his hand down on the table. "Dis-_graceful_." He declared, stretching it out almost into two words. "Dis_graceful_! I hope you're planning on fighting the decision?"

My smile was full of speculation. "I _am_." I said, adopting a slightly less knowing, slightly more vulnerable demeanour. "But you see, I just don't know where to start…"

His smile was broad. "Right _here_!" He announced, his voice loud enough to make several other conversations falter as people looked our way. If I weren't trying so hard to get him on my side, I would have been tempted to remind him of the merits of 'inside voices'. "You may have heard of my uncle – Tiberius McLaggen?" I made to answer, but he cut me off. "Of course you have – he's the Minister for Foreign Affairs!" This, too, was half shouted, and accompanied by McLaggen slapping the table again.

"Ssshhh…" I began, despite myself, and then had to mask my attempts to shush him with a faux sneeze.

"Bless you." McLaggen said, before returning to his speech. "I'll ask him to look into the laws – it won't be a problem at _all_, I assure you."

The smile I gave him was utterly contrived – full of fake gratitude, but very real speculation. "You're a _lifesaver_!" I told him, hamming my French accent up a little (he seemed the sort to enjoy the exotic). "You'll give him my name? I mean, I submitted a query to the Foreign Office when this all happened, but I haven't had any reply…"

He waved a hand. "Oh, I'll have you pushed right up the list!" He assured me. "I'm very close with Uncle Tiberius, and he'll be more than happy to help me."

"You're _so_ kind!" I said, keeping my voice quiet. If anybody else heard me simpering like an idiot, my housemates would probably perform an honour killing. He smiled, looking quite pleased with himself. "Is there anything I can do for you in return?" I asked. I supposed like most of the non-aristocracy, he liked the glamour and the style of the upper class. It was, therefore, my responsibility to cater to his needs. I straightened my back and lifted my chin. "I hope you won't think me rude, but Dahlquists don't _accept_ charity. I'd want to repay the favour."

He shook his head. "Oh, please, no." He said. "Anything for a fellow 'Sluggy'."

I tried not to grimace at that nickname. "I am grateful." I inclined my head elegantly. "You cannot know how much."

His smile was fairly condescending, and it was an expression I wanted to wipe off of his smug little face, but instead I just held his gaze for what felt like _ages_. Eventually, a thought seemed to occur to him and he gave a brief chuckle. "You know," he said, leaning forwards. "I'm a Gryffindor."

"I know." I said, nodding in acknowledgement.

"And you're a Slytherin."

Dear _Merlin_. "I know that, too." I replied, trying to keep my tone even.

He leaned even closer. "Technically, you know…" He glanced up at me and smiled. "We're not supposed to get along."

Was this… flirting? Obvious, not at all witty, _corny_ flirting? It took supreme self-control for me to keep my face neutral when I was cringing on the inside. Surely this wasn't what everybody else had to put up with? Wistfully I remembered the many snarky, witty conversations I'd had with Blaise. I'd thought _that_ was flirting. If this was how other people flirted… I shook those thoughts from my head, and concentrated my efforts on being charming. "Oh _really_?" I said cheekily, wondering whether or not that would be enough. But McLaggen was still looking at me, and (stifling a sigh) I continued. "I have to admit – I'm not much one for rules."

McLaggen opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly, a cool voice drawled. "Well, I know _that_'s true." Blaise, it seemed, had finally abandoned his conversation with Bobbins (who now looked fairly put out and embarrassed) to come and rescue me? Unexpected. But then, without so much as a glance my way, he continued. "Social conventions are _not_ Estelle's style."

To my horror, McLaggen shrugged. "I did hear a little something about the two of you." I felt a blaze of dislike for him – whatever he'd heard, who would be tactless enough to raise it at a dinner party?

"Frankly, I'm glad she's shifted her attentions to you." Blaise said, sounding quite bored. "Do enjoy."

Both McLaggen and I gaped. I recovered first. "You say such funny things." I laughed. "Tell me, is this _typical_ Italian humour, or are you just an especially horrible person?" But Blaise had already turned away, apparently having no other interest in the conversation at all. I made to speak to McLaggen again, only to find that he'd hastily turned to bother Bushy Hair and Weaslette. Brilliant. At that moment, I was rescued from the awkwardness in the least interesting way possible – Slughorn stepping forwards and introducing some female quidditch player. I wasn't really paying attention. Instead, I was wondering whether Blaise had actually destroyed _every_ chance I had at salvaging my reputation. We finished the dinner (not a moment too soon) and to my 'surprise', Blaise walked by my side all the way back to the dungeon, with Bobbin hanging off his arm almost the entire way.

When she finally detached herself, with a girlish titter and shrill "goodbye!" she left the two of us alone in the cold stone corridor. Apparently more content to talk to me when there wasn't anybody about, Blaise broke the silence first. "That was dull." He said, as though his opinion was the final word on the matter. "Horrifically dull – I _detest_ such blatant attempts to emulate class. All that man has is powerful friends, who are probably embarrassed to admit to the acquaintance at all."

"Unnecessary." I said, trying to keep my tone fairly casual.

Blaise turned to me in mild surprise. "Unnecessary? Well, I suppose tastes will differ. If big-bellied, lower class, _minimum_ wage teachers are your sort of thing…."

"I meant what you said to McLaggen." I said as calmly as I could. "It was unnecessary."

He turned to face me, one eyebrow raised. "I didn't say _anything_." He pointed out. I noticed then that, without even thinking, we'd stopped heading for the dungeons and started tracing our old path back up to the Astronomy Tower. Blaise still hadn't noticed this, so far as I could tell. He was just watching me, in that strange, masked manner of his.

"You said enough." I said tiredly, running a hand through my hair. "I need him, Blaise – to contest my title."

The look he gave me was speculative, but his eyes were soft. "You _do_ have a lot on your plate right now, don't you?" There really wasn't any point answering such an obvious question. I rolled my eyes and he gave me what might've been an affectionate smile on anybody else's face. On his, it could have been anything. "I don't suppose you've been talking to anybody about it?"

It was such a concerned, almost _caring_ thing to say that I was taken aback. "I have, actually." I answered without thinking. "Fat lot of good it's done me – there's no point talking to a non-Slytherin about this sort of thing."

Blaise didn't say anything for a long while. But then, his tone deliberately disinterested, he said, "_non_ Slytherin?" Shit. "Who _have_ you been talking to?"

"Luna Lovegood." I said, maintaining a casual tone. "She's insane, but a good listener. Why?" It was so very obvious that Blaise didn't buy that. But before I could say anything else, he shrugged and turned away, heading for the dungeons. "What and you doing?" I couldn't believe it. "This – this is the first proper conversation we've had in days and you're _leaving_? What for?"

He shrugged again, leaning against the wall for a moment. "I'm going to meet Pansy."

I blinked in shock, and for a long moment couldn't think of anything to say. "_Really_?" I asked finally. He shrugged yet again and I felt a powerful urge to dislocate his shoulders.

His response almost made me act on that urge. "Well, you know." He said coolly. "She puts out."

I felt like he'd punched me. "Well if you ask half the school, they'll tell you that I do, too." I said, somehow keeping my tone even and nonchalant. But it hardly mattered, because he'd already begun to walk off.

I watched him leave with a detached sort of fury. I'll be the first to admit that my pride was wounded more than anything else, but it hurt nonetheless. As I watched him stroll out through the huge double doors leading back to the dungeons, it gave me a profound satisfaction to see him stiffen uncomfortably at the sight of Faustin walking in the opposite direction, a discomfort that swelled as Faustin raised a hand to me in greeting. Draco had been right – they _loathed_ each other.

As the realisation struck me, my path became clear.

And _that_ was how any trace of civility between Blaise and I became doomed. That was how the end began.

….

"I need gossip."

Jess turned to face me, hand on hip. I think I've only mentioned in passing that Jess enjoys storing other people's secrets. She is a big believer in saving things for a rainy day, and while the value of land dwindles, and exchange rates change, Jess has always professed that the value of a good scandal will remain proportionate to the wealth of whoever it involves. So she listens and she watches – she's more observant than anybody I know. I don't like to think what sort of information she has on me, and to be honest, I have no idea how many people she has dirt on. But it's safe to assume that they span the four houses, the seven year levels and perhaps the continent.

I would never really ask Jess to compromise her sources to tell me idle gossip. But this was an emergency and I was stuck.

"Surely you have _enough_ gossip." Jess said scathingly, but when I continued to hold her gaze, she dropped the act. "Why should I help you?" I shrugged and she rolled her eyes in frustration. "Estelle, if I tell you whatever you want to know it means that I _lose _the power that knowledge gave me – exclusivity is key, here."

I wasn't in the mood for a long debate. I tried to communicate as much urgency as possible through my eyes. "I wouldn't _ask_ if it wasn't _important_." I told her through gritted teeth, once again shamefully taking advantage of her friendship. Silently, I swore I would repay her for her faith in me.

Jess watched me for a long few minutes before relenting. "Okay, _fine_." She sighed. "On whom?"

Aleksander Faustin. He'd indicated that he was willing to help me, but what I had in mind to prove to Blaise that he did not own me was _not_ the sort of thing which anybody with self-pride would willingly subject themselves to. I would of course approach him civilly first. But after that? Well, let's just say that with Jess' help I would have a backup plan.

Jess raised an eyebrow. "Faustin? That's unexpected."

"Who did you think?" I asked, curious.

She ran a hand through her hair. "Well, _Blaise_, obviously. I mean, he started a rumour about _you_, you start one about _him_… Fire with fire, right?"

I shook my head, wrinkling my nose in distaste. "I don't know about _that_." I said. "Fire with fire leaves you with a hell of a lot of ash to clean up. Fire with _water_, though…"

Jess's lips cracked into a smile. "Planning on raining on his parade?"

I grinned. "Planning a tsunami. A tsunami on his parade."

"And you'll use Faustin to do that?" She clarified, and when I nodded she gave a resigned sigh. "Well, alright, I suppose. Lucky for you, while I don't know much about Blaise, I have a _very_ juicy little tidbit about Faustin." Her eyes narrowed. "Really, I hate to give it to you. But what are friends for?"

"Other than blackmailing innocent bystanders in order to decimate the life of an ex?" I shrugged. "Honestly, I don't have a clue."

…

In the end, it took me very little time to chase down Faustin. Which was awful, because I truly had planned on procrastinating for as long as possible. I had never done anything quite this despicable before, and I was trying (unsuccessfully) to build myself up to it. Blackmail was a huge stepping stone onto the dark side, and I hadn't even worked out how to do it. I was planning on doing _that_ while searching for Faustin. But even the best laid plans go astray, and I happened to bump into him coming out of one of the deserted corridors. What I now knew combined with my stress made the situation almost hysterically funny, but I contained my laughter long enough to drag him into a nearby, quiet alcove. "I-uh." I paused, weighing up how I was going to do this.

"What do you need, Zvedza?" Aleks asked, his eyes gleaming. "I must admit that I didn't realise that you'd take our little 'conversation' the other day as some sort of precedent for friendship."

I smiled knowingly. "I didn't take it as a precedent for friendship." I assured him. "More like … an indication of mutual need."

Faustin's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

I made my move. "You didn't help me because our grandparents were friends, _or_ out of the kindness of your heart." My eyes narrowed. "You're just looking for the opportunity to take Zabini down a peg or two."

"I won't deny it." Faustin said easily, leaning back against the wall. "That's why I've paid so much attention to you – because _he_ seems to."

"I'm so flattered." I said dryly.

"Oh, _please_." He scoffed. "As though you didn't flirt with me for that _exact_ reason – because you knew it would annoy him." True, but on principle I reserved the right to be angry. Clearly bored of this argument, Faustin moved along. "You know, you _are_ catching me off guard." He sounded surprised at his own admission. "After all, despite everything that has happened recently, I _still_ thought you were a devoted member of the Zabini posse."

Resisting the urge to launch into a tirade about just how _wrong_ that statement was, I shrugged a shoulder. "I hate labels, and I hate posses." I told him firmly. "And _that_ is exactly why I need to prove to Zabini that I am not his to use."

Aleks' eyes took on a knowing look. "Ah. So you _are_ upset about that little public display of sluttishness with Parkinson last week?" I looked away, and he laughed. "Darling, you should have known better than to expect otherwise. Of _course_ he was with somebody else."

_I thought we were in a relationship_. My brain cried out. _I thought he cared, but it was all a game. But I can play that game, too_.

But I couldn't say any of that, so instead, I seized the role Blaise had created for me – the shrewish, obsessed little fan girl – and put my own spin on it. From now, I would create the impression that I hadn't thought we were _together_, I'd just thought we were _different_. It was a subtle, though less pathetic difference.

"I know." I snapped. "What annoyed me was how blasé he was about it."

"What did you expect?"

In a second, I was inches away from him, playing my part with gusto. "_I_ expected shame. I expected an apology, embarrassment! I expected an explanation." I turned away sharply, clenching my hands into fists. "What I _didn't_ expect was that he took it for granted that I wouldn't mind. That he thought I would just nod meekly and wait my turn."

"Your pride is hurt." Aleks mused from the side, and I spun around, giving him a brilliant smile. "And you want to, what, make him jealous?"

"Of course."

Aleks laughed a little. "Blaise doesn't _get_ jealous." He pointed out. "He'd chase you just enough to make sure he could get you back no problem, and then he'd just go back to his old ways."

"I know." I said calmly. "Which is why I'm not going to leave him- I'm just going to make it clear that two can play at _his_ game."

He knew straight away what I wanted. "You want to be seen to be screwing around with me, but not stop screwing around with him." I smiled again. "Might work, for a moment, but not longer."

I raised an eyebrow, slightly at a loss, before realising just what had happened here. "Oh, _dear_." I said. "You disapprove?" I sighed sadly. "That _changes_ things. _So_ much. Because, Faustin, I really _value_ your opinion."

Aleks rolled his eyes, fairly annoyed with me. "Didn't anybody ever tell you that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit?"

"You would be surprised how often I'm told that."

He cocked his head to one side. "You know, I really doubt I would be." He said drily.

My mouth curved into an evil smile. "I'm really going to _love_ working with you." I told him with utmost certainty.

Aleks sighed. "So, you want me to what? Pretend to date you?"

I tilted my head back, letting out a pealing laugh which would be sure to annoy him. "_No_, silly." I chastised cheerfully. "No, I want you to _pursue_ me. I'll just be _receiving _your attention, not reciprocating." There was a slight pause, and so I continued. "Really, you're going to be the _biggest_ help – the peons follow where you lead, and if you lead them to me… well…" I smiled saucily at him. "My position will be secure in no time."

In a second, his goodwill evaporated. "I think you'll find I haven't agreed to any of this, Dahlquist." Aleks snapped at me, his dark eyes blazing. "And why would I, when I get absolutely nothing out of it?"

"I thought you wanted to annoy Blaise." I said innocently, and Aleks swore viciously in Russian.

"Annoy him?" He let out a slow laugh. "Try _amuse_ him. Or did you _truly_ think that convincing me to chase after you like some imbecilic, prepubescent _infant _would somehow make him feel jealous?"

I sighed. "There were a _lot_ of big words in that little speech, Aleks." I complained.

Ignoring me, he continued. "People only get jealous if they feel threatened." He pointed out. "And from the sounds of things, you're hardly planning on responding to my 'advances'."

"Blaise is possessive." I pointed out. "Ridiculously so! Just the prospect of you and I will drive him _mental_. Not to mention to others who will follow." I paused. "And after all, we kept our relationship secret for quite some time. He will inevitably assume you and I are doing the same."

"That isn't _enough_." Aleks said coldly. "I don't dislike you, Dahlquist, but I hardly trust you enough to go through with it. What if after I go through with this _humiliating_ charade, you return to Blaise the second he crooks a finger in your direction?" I raised an eyebrow and he leaned back casually against the wall. "Don't _pout_ at me, Dahlquist." He snapped. "it's a valid concern – and it would leave me losing out to Blaise _again_."

I frowned, placing my hands on my hips and regarding Aleks through narrowed eyes. "Are you _truly_ refusing to help me?" Aleks shrugged and I pursed my lips. "Even though our grandparents were _such_ close friends?" My voice oozed mockery and Aleks was not impressed. But when he still didn't respond, I let out a sad sigh and shook my head. "You know, if you don't go through with this you are _definitely_ going to regret it.

Aleks' answering laugh was long and low. "Oh _please_, Dahlquist." He murmurmed, taking a step forwards. Had I stepped forwards, we'd still have been a good distance apart, but Aleks' legs were ridiculously long, and his step had placed us inches away from each other. "Do I seem like the sort of man susceptible to idle threats?"

"You seem like _a_ man." I told him blithely. "And men in general _do_ appear to be largely susceptible to threat-making." I paused. "Especially _my_ threat making – I have a wonderful track record of following through. And it isn't an _idle_ threat."

"Oh, please." Aleks scoffed. "The events of the past few weeks have left you a penniless bastard with a shady reputation. You have no _power_ anymore – the only threats you _can_ make are idle threats."

He was being so condescending I was almost _cheerful_ about what my next move would have to be. "Oh, I don't know, Aleks… what's that old saying – information is power?"

"_Knowledge_ is power." He corrected me, rolling his eyes. "I won't bother commenting on the irony of you not _knowing_ that."

My smile was tight. "You just did, Aleks." I pointed out. "And for today, at least, I think it will have to be _information_ is power."

"I've recently heard 'sex is power." Aleks suggested, clearly ignoring my subtle hints at the direction our conversation was heading for. After watching me for a moment, he swooped in close, his mouth lingering near mine. "Is _that_ how you were planning on convincing me, Dahlquist?"

I laughed. "Oh, Aleks," I shook my head, smiling. "I know I'm not your type."

He darted back for a minute. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" he asked, his eyes moving from my mouth to search my face.

I smiled a lazy, lazy smile. "_Mon cher_." I drawled. "Your naiveté is charming… did you really believe that you and that Ravenclaw boy could keep it hidden forever?" he paled a little and I laughed. "Behind the suits of armour _is_ undoubtedly more subtle than say, in a broom closet - very creative, ingenious, really- but sound _does_ tend to echo in stone hallways."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Aleks said coldly.

"Don't I?" I stretched languidly. "Thomas Boot – or, you know… _something_ like that. Tommy? Terry? Perhaps I _don't_ know what I'm talking about, I never have been very good with names." I had my eyes closed, but I could feel Aleks panicking. "I hope you know that I went to a lot of trouble for this, Faustin. True detective work." I paused. "Boot – it isn't exactly an _old_ name, is it? Certainly not somebody of social standing." Aleks let loose a Russian swearword. "Of course that's hardly the _biggest_ problem your family will have with him." I looked cheekily up at him from under my eyelashes. "Key word in _that_ statement being '_him'_."

"Alright, _enough_, Dahlquist!" Aleks snapped. "Enough!" His usually calm demeanour had shattered under pressure, which I'll admit was disappointing – I'd thought he was stronger than that. But sometimes the ones who seem the strongest are in truth the ones most likely to crumble in the face of adversity. It was just that nobody had ever challenged rich, well-born Aleksander Faustin. Til me.

And that meant he just wasn't used to it. Poor Aleks – perfectly capable of dishing it out, and yet unable to take it. Not a good position to be in when you had a secret as big as his. Pureblooded families didn't necessarily have a _problem_ with gays … so long as those gays were other people's children. Aleks was, I had discovered, an only child. Even the most liberal of parents would take issue with their heir being disinclined to procreate.

Still pacing, he ran a hand through his hair, letting loose another stream of swearwords. "You little _bitch_." He snarled. I wanted to raise my eyebrows at that – considering I had some dangerous knowledge against him, was insulting me _really_ the best possible course of action? Faustin evidently realised this. "Alright, we can come to _some_ sort of agreement, I'm sure." He said. "You – just – so long as this stays _quiet_." He was thinking fast now, but not _quite _fast enough. "I can't believe this." He muttered to himself, running a hand over his face. "I just _can't_ believe it."

I was instantly contrite. "Oh, Faustin – you didn't like my little joke? And here I was thinking I was being _so_ clever."

Aleks' eyes narrowed, and he ceased pacing to glare at me over his shoulder. "You _thought_ you were being clever?" He asked slowly, his voice full of hate and disgust. I nodded innocently.

"Why, yes. With my little joke." Slowly, I sidled up to him. "After all, it's obvious that you're not.. _that way inclined_. I mean," I tipped my head back and chuckled, "how could you be, when you've been pursuing _me_ so actively?"

His eyes narrowed into slits so thin I couldn't see their whites anymore. "You're a devious little bitch, Dahlquist." He said, his voice low with rage. "Don't think I'm going to forget this any time soon."

I smiled indulgently, hopping down from the window ledge. "Well, whatever revenge you attempt, make sure I can't trace it back to you." I paused. "Otherwise some veritaserum _may_ just find its way into your morning pumpkin juice. Or if not _yours…._ Timmy Boot? Or, whatever his name is." Aleks' mouth thinned into a hard line and his jaw clenched. "I _own_ you now, Faustin." I told him quietly. "I'm more than happy to forget all about this, but I _will_ have your loyalty and your help, even if I have to coerce it out of you."

"I'll find something." He hissed. "I'll find _bigger_ gossip on _you_."

My laugh was utterly unforced and genuinely amused. "Oh, _Aleks_." I sighed, wiping a tear from my eye. "I'm the disinherited bastard daughter of a blood traitor, rumoured to have lost her virginity to the resident man whore." My smile became gloating. "Do your worst. I think you'll find that one of the benefits of having all your dirty laundry aired is that nobody can have anything on you."

….

When I ran into Harry mere moments after Faustin had stormed off (probably to warn his lover) a more superstitious person might have labelled it 'karma'. Here I was, just having committed a fairly terrible act, and who did I run into but the school's resident moral compass, Mr Harry Potter.

He, of course, was happy to see me, and his mouth stretched into a sweet grin when he met my eyes. "Estelle." He called, utterly oblivious to how quiet I was trying to keep this friendship. "What are you doing around here?"

I shrugged, too tired and too reluctant to lie to him. "Scheming."

"What sort?"

I leaned back against the wall, meeting his eyes with utmost resignation to the moral bashing I was about to receive. "Blackmail."

His eyebrows soared into his hairline. "_What_?" He asked. "Estelle – "

"I swear it was necessary." I said, and then paused. "Please don't ask me to expand on that."

But as I said it, Harry was already asking, "why was it necessary?"

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "He wouldn't have helped me, otherwise." I admitted begrudgingly.

"Zabini?"

"Faustin."

Harry blinked in confusion. "Who?"

Really? Well. Apparently some people really _didn't_ pay much attention to the workings of the upper class. "Aleksander Faustin – Russian seventh year?" Harry still looked confused and I rolled my eyes. "Oh come _on_, Harry! Really?"

Harry frowned, evidently concentrating quite hard. "Is he that one with the… you know, the hair?" I shook my head in incomprehension and Harry tried again. "You know… the _hair_?"

"What about his hair?" I asked, confused.

Harry shook his head. "Never mind. I guess it's not important. Okay, so this 'Faustin' person." How could anybody know so little about Wizarding Society? I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and nodded. "Why him?" When I didn't say anything, Harry glanced around us and sighed. "Want to go outside?" He asked, which was a dumb question considering the pseudo blizzard that was currently raging, but when it was _Harry_ suggesting it, I couldn't help but agree.

We wandered out onto one of the many ledges with exposed windows, feeling the chill as the freezing air beat down on us in waves. Shivering, I pulled my cloak closer around myself and hopped up onto the balcony, letting my feet dangle over the edge. Already I couldn't feel my nose, but somehow I was much more at ease. I supposed it was because Harry was there. I snuck a glance at him, only to see him staring out over the grounds distractedly. Against the grey of the sky, his eyes were vividly green, and his hair blacker than black. The cold had whipped colour into his cheeks and made the rest of his face so pale that the faint outline of his scar stood out like a slash down his forehead. He turned, and catching sight of me watching him, flushed and glanced quickly away. "So how is everything going?" He asked slowly."

I considered. "Not so bad." I said, and then, just because I would normally have chatted to Blaise about this, and I was missing bouncing my ideas off of somebody, I said. "I have a decent number of allies within the house, now." I told him. "And over two dozen students who 'believe' that all that talk about Blaise and I was just rumours."

Harry's brow crinkled in confusion, but he nodded. "And Faustin is one of them?" He asked, and even I could hear the unvoiced reprimand in that comment.

I shifted uncomfortably on the ledge. "I needed somebody to chase after me." I admitted by way of explanation.

There was a long silence, during which all I could hear was the roar of the wind through the stone columns. "You – you blackmailed him into _dating_ you?" Harry sounded fairly shocked.

I couldn't help but laugh. "No, Harry." I closed my eyes. "No, I blackmailed him into _chasing_ me. That way people see I still have options and prospects – that I'm not the victim of Blaise's 'manly allure' or whatever, still pining over him and thought of as his _property_."

"I … don't get it." Harry said. "I'd have thought you'd _want_ to appear to be a victim." I raised an eyebrow in his direction, and he hurriedly added. "Not of… of 'manly allure'," his face flushed a little. "But you know. In general. That way people feel sorry for you and are less likely to hurt you." The idea was clearly distasteful to Harry, so dedicated to pride and nobility and all of that impractical, idealistic stuff. It made me smile at how hard he was trying to relate to me, to _think_ like a Slytherin. It was especially funny because of how bad he was at it.

"No, Harry." I said, amused, "no, appearing weak is the _last_ thing you want to do."

He frowned. "Why? People would want to be on your side. You know, because they pity you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Pity is a Gryffindor thing." I told him firmly. "We don't _pity_ in Slytherin – it's a waste of time. And nobody wants to be on the losing side, and the weak is _always_ the losing side." He still looked confused, and I sighed, kicking my feet out in front of me. "The weak get picked off like _flies_. Better to appear strong – then people follow you."

There was a long pause as Harry processed this. I sat there, in the biting cold wind, with my knees pressed up against my chest, and watched him thinking. From where I was, I couldn't make out the scar that made him so famous, and he looked completely and utterly normal. Just a boy. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of what he would have been like _without_ the scar. My mind wandered back to Sirius' journal. He'd thought the same thing – what if? Would we be real friends if Harry's parents hadn't died? Would we be close, like he was with Weasley?

Perhaps, I considered, I'd be close to Weasley, too. We'd all be friends. Or would I _hate_ Harry? Would I resent always being pushed together with him, always seeing him when our parents hung out? I frowned a little, eyes still fixed on Harry. Would he be like a brother to me?

Would I still know Draco?

"So exactly what is it that you're actually doing?" Harry asked bluntly, snapping me out of my reverie. "Because last time we talked you said you had to make it appear like you and Blaise _were_ sleeping together, and now you're saying you're pretending it's a rumour?"

With a herculean effort, I dragged my mind back to the present. "Yes, well there's a fine distinction in there." I told him, shaking my head to wake myself up. "I'm continuing the idea that we were seeing each other _casually_, but not sleeping together. I'm saying that _that_ was an exaggeration."

Harry looked away from me, nodding to himself. "Okay." He said finally. "I suppose that makes sense."

"It's all so horribly intertwined." I complained, letting my head thump back against the ground. "I need to get as many pillars of polite society on my side as possible before I approach the Embassy and the Ministry's Legal Department. But nobody will side with me until this whole Blaise thing blows over. Which it won't." I paused. "Well. It _might_."

I could tell Harry, surely? This was big news! Exciting news! He smiled in anticipation, "what? What's just happened to change things?"

"I've already told you, Harry." I leaned forwards. "I have _Faustin_ on my side!" At the look on Harry's face, I amended. "Fine, _unwillingly_ on my side." My smile was vicious and cruel as I said, "and I can't _wait_ until Blaise finds out."

He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. "Why, Estelle?" He asked plainly. "It's like you want him to be jealous."

I shot Harry a confused glance. "Well, I _do_." I said.

There was a pause. "So, are you coming to the Quidditch match? Gryffindor against Slytherin." He joked.

Waving a hand dismissively, I nodded. "Yeah, I'll probably be there. Draco gets upset if I… don't _scoff_, Harry! He _does_. He likes me to watch!"

"Watch him get thrashed by my team." Harry said almost darkly. And then he shot me an almost sly look. "Is he alright, by the way?"

I adjusted the way my head was resting against the wall to frown consideringly at Harry. "Why?" He just shrugged and I glanced away, not letting my amusement show through on my face. Really? He was trying to scheme information out of _me_? "He's fine."

"Anything weird happening?" He persisted. "He looks sick."

"It's weird that you're spending time staring at my cousin." I said drily. "he's _fine_, Harry. Thanks for the concern – I'll let him know you asked."

Harry shrugged almost defensively. "I was just taking an interest." He told me. "He's your cousin – I was just wondering…"

_You were just spying_. I thought uncharitably. But I didn't say it – I left it, as though I hadn't noticed anything strange about Draco's behaviour at all. But I _had_, and it left a bad taste in my mouth that Harry had, too.

….

I was sitting next to Pucey in the Slytherin Common Room (pretending I couldn't hear the group of third year girls behind us gossiping about me) when the happy moment finally arrived. "I've just heard a _very_ interesting story." The voice was low, amused and cool. I steeled myself. I'd been waiting for this – I could handle it. I pulled back from Pucey a bit and glanced up at Blaise. His eyes were deep, dark and unfathomable, but the corner of his mouth was twitched up in a smile. "Slumming it, are you, Estelle?"

I blinked innocently. "Sorry?"

Blaise shot a look at Pucey (who with utmost ill-humour and an impressively dark scowl vacated the area) then elegantly lowered himself into the couch beside me. "Mellencorp approached me after breakfast- is it true that he found you in a 'compromising' position with Faustin?"

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. "Mellencorp is _such_ a snoop." I complained. "Well, I didn't _see_ him there, but who knows? That guy is such a creep."

"Were you screwing him? In public?"

"What? _No_, Blaise." I tried to look offended. Placated, Blaise draped an arm across the back on my chair. I looked away from him and elaborated. "It was in one of the classrooms. We charmed the door so that nobody could get in." Blaise's eyes turned even colder. Gleefully, I continued, feigning nonchalance. "And we weren't screwing- you know I don't do that."

"So you _are_ slumming." He stated, each word carefully pronounced, as though he were considering them all. But I knew that he was considering more than that. Yes, Blaise was wondering what I was playing at. "With Faustin, of all people."

I smiled. "To call it _slumming_ is a little harsh." I said jovially. But then I grinned. "Oh, Blaise – of _course_ none of that happened."

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes. "It didn't?"

I shook my head. "No." And then I waited a moment longer, waited til he'd relaxed. "No, I've _told_ Faustin that it's too soon after this whole scandal. Granted, he's being _annoyingly_ persistent, but I'm 'sticking to my guns' as they say." Blaise chuckled lightly, shaking his head. This was wrong- he wasn't meant to be _amused_. "Something funny?" I asked, bristling.

He nodded. "Ah, Estelle. Did you _really_ go and fool around with Faustin just to annoy me after the Pansy incident?" _ Yes. I did. You hurt me, I'm going to hurt you_.

"You are _so_ conceited." I laughed coolly. "And I'm _not_ fooling around with Faustin – I just _said_ that." Blaise said nothing so I looked away from him, keeping my gaze fixed on a group of first years who were playing exploding snap by the fireplace. "He's the one chasing _me_."

There was a long pause before Blaise said. "Explain."

His voice was so low and dark that I couldn't keep the smile from my face. "Oh. Well, he's decided that I'm a marriageable prospect."

"You?" Blaise asked sceptically. "The poor bastard whore? _You_ are a marriagable prospect?"

I sighed, curling my legs up underneath me on the couch. "I _know_." I said lightly. "It _is_ strange. He said that his mother is pushing for him to marry a Russian, but he wants to forge connections with the rest of Europe."

"Nobody from the rest of Europe wants to marry a Russian." Blaise scoffed.

I nodded. "Precisely. That's why he wants me."

"You?"

I pointed at myself. "Me. My mother was half Russian, if you remember. From an old, old Russian family – the Ludvenksco family?"

Blaise did not react. "I've never heard of it." He said, sounding almost sullen.

I shrugged. "Well, they were a branch of the Russian royal family, socially significant through the last three centuries, but officially disappeared after the Revolution. They're really all but extinct. Anyway, Faustin knows that his mother would welcome anybody with the coveted Ludvenksco blood, but I'm French _and _English, too, so he would get his foreign connections."

"You're poor." Blaise pointed out.

"And Aleks is rich." I shrugged. "he doesn't mind – we've always flirted, now he wants to take things further." It was fairly obvious that many people around us were following our conversation closely. Even the first years had taken a break from their exploding snap and were paused mid-turn, eyes fixed on the two of us. I turned to meet Blaise's eyes. "It's an advantageous connection – I wanted to let you know myself that it was on the table."

We were very close now, close enough for Blaise to whisper, without our audience hearing, "what are you playing at?"

My answering smile was small and sweet. I leaned in very close, close enough that our lips were almost touching, and then I moved around, so my mouth was flush against his ear. "You saved your reputation." I breathed, and felt him stiffen. "Now I'm saving mine." Now he was stiffening for a different reason. Smiling with satisfaction, I pulled back just a little and planted a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Zvezda." Somebody said, and I turned to see Aleks standing behind us, looking amused.

"Did you just _sneeze_?" Blaise asked, clearly having recovered from my little revelation. "I can never tell with Russian- such an ugly language."

Aleks just smiled. "It means 'star'." He offered politely. "It's what I call Estelle."

"Because 'Estelle' means star." I elaborated patronisingly. "It's practically a Russian translation of my name."

"Want to go for a walk?" Aleks asked, as though I weren't practically sitting on another boy's lap.

"We're _talking_." Blaise snapped at him. "Go annoy somebody else." He must have realised then that he was reacting too angrily for somebody who'd just been _tolerating_ my advances over the past month out of pity. He froze for a moment, then pasted a nonchalant look on his face, though he still watched me, waiting for my reply.

"I'm not annoyed." I said calmly. "Maybe later, Aleks. For now…"

"Just as friends, then?" Aleks said quickly, playing the part of svelte lover to perfection. "Come on – a short walk so we can talk for a little while."

I made a show of looking from Blaise to Aleks, and then back again. I met Blaise's eyes and held his gaze for as long as I could without him saying anything. And then, at the very last minute, when he'd just opened his mouth to speak, I turned back to Aleks and shrugged. "Sure." I agreed with a smile. "Why not?"

His smile looked completely natural. "Wonderful!" He said. "I'm glad. Shall we?"

I stepped up beside him, allowing my fingers to brush 'accidentally' along the length of Blaise's forearm as I did so. But I didn't say goodbye – just looked over my shoulder and winked.

The second Aleks and I were out the door, he dropped my arm and rearranged his features into an expression of disgust. "I don't want to admit it," he told me, "but the look on Zabini's face was wildly satisfying."

"Wasn't it, though?" I agreed, primping a little. At that moment, we heard the sound of footsteps along the dungeon. Quickly, I took Aleks' arm, and he adopted a cheerful expression. "I had no idea!" I said brightly, waiting for the person to arrive, "that you had a summer house in Paris."

"Yes, the Faustins have many properties." He said, sounding boastful and _very_ flirtatious. "One right near an old Dahlquist property, I believe."

"Yes, well." I sighed. "We have _some_ property in Paris, but my grandfather preferred the ancestral haunts – we own half of Annecy, and have a large villa on Mont San Michel."

"We should do a tour!" Aleks suggested with a laugh. "That is, _after_ we get your rightful title back." I rolled my eyes at him – too far – and murmured a 'thank you' as we waited for the person we were trying to impress to pass by.

But it was just…

"Draco?" I called, and Aleks – knowing there was no need to perform for my cousin – dropped my arm with a sigh. "What are you doing? You look so…."

Pale? Tired? Awful? Drawn? Old?

"I'm in a rush, Estelle." He snapped, pushing past me.

I spun around, watching him through narrowed eyes. "Draco, I think we _really_ need to talk!" I called out, trying not to sound too desperate and concerned.

He ignored me, continuing his angry march along the corridor, shoulders hunched and eyes lowered. I felt Faustin's hand on my arm. "You'll make a scene if you try again." He muttered. "And if I _must_ pretend to pursue you, I'd rather you not be seen as a shrew." I didn't reply to him, and in a show of the most reluctant kindness known to man, Faustin sighed and patted me gently on the back. "I don't know why you're bothering." He said bluntly. "You say you want to re-enter high society, yet you cling to the one pureblood who could bring you down." I stared stubbornly ahead. "Malfoy is no longer a _suitable_ friend." Faustin told me firmly. "Not if you want to be respected in any community larger than England. It's time you distanced yourself from the whole lot of them."

I licked my lips. "They _raised_ me, Faustin." I pointed out drily. "They're my _family_. I can't abandon them"

He scoffed, apparently amused. "What are you, a Gryffindor or something?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Sorry! No promised kiss. It just didn't fit in. BUT the very next chapter will fix that right up.

As always, thanks to my reviewers: **katchile94**, **Guest**, **Kaitie**, **The Agent of Fire**, **Miss Sugar Unicorn**!


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